


Catalyst

by CannibalKats



Series: Catalyst [2]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Emotional Abuse, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Gay Sex, M/M, Mint Eye, Slow Burn, mint eye MC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-11-12 16:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannibalKats/pseuds/CannibalKats
Summary: Saeran watched Jisu get everything she ever wanted, including Yoosung Kim.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slow burn Yooran. Based on Yoosungs route if MC was a Mint Eye plant. Minor references to self harm and drug use.

Saeran wasn’t sure why he was doing this to himself.  His therapist had told him to celebrate.  It was three months since the last time he’d self-harmed, almost six since the last time he’d been hospitalized. _No record is too small to celebrate_ , his doctor had told him when he argued.

It felt like a lie, sure he hadn’t cut himself, or scratched himself, or pulled on his hair until clumps were missing.  Sure if they decided to check him he wouldn’t have marks but sitting here felt like a knife twisting in his chest.  Even earlier when it had just been the two of them it had felt like picking a scab.

He wanted a drink.  He’d asked his doctor a few weeks before, _not yet¸_ he’d been told, _maybe someday but not yet_.

He wanted more than a drink if he was honest with himself but that was a bridge he was well over.  He’d come to learn that particular desire would never _really_ go away, but it was easy to ignore.  There were plenty of reasons to stay clean.  Especially sitting here on Yoosung’s tiny futon, with Yoosung sandwiched between him and Jisu.

It seemed so unfair that Jisu always got what she wanted.  She’d gotten Savior’s soft words, she’d gotten her own room, to live outside of the castle.  She’d gotten school, and friends and she’d gotten out first.  None of that was blame he could really place on her, and he could finally rationalize that, but it still hurt.

Not that Mint Eye had been anything but Hell with a nice coat of paint for either of them, but she’d gotten the illusion of normalcy and he’d gotten cold stone walls and deadlines and beatings.  He’d been the junk yard dog and she’d been the pampered show pup.

Sometimes he wonders why she was the one to bite their master.

But then Yoosung turns to him and says something stupid and kind and beautiful and he _knows_.

Sometimes he wonders if she lost Yoosung would she still be this person.  He’s voiced this before, aside from him only V and Saeyoung know about Jisu’s connection to the Mint Eye Cult.  Jisu was better adjusted, Jisu had weaned herself off of the drugs the moment she stepped foot in that apartment, Jisu had never tried to kill anyone.  Jisu had never maimed her therapist.

Not that anyone had said that to him but he could see it in their faces.

He can feel Yoosung’s leg shaking against his, he’d have been irritated if it had been anyone else but right now he’s just happy for the contact.  Then suddenly it stops, he hadn’t really been paying attention to the movie Jisu had put on.  He’d been playing games with Yoosung when she came in and frowned and took the controller out of Yoosung’s hand.

“I can’t listen to this fucking jangly shit right now guys,” she snaps, closing the game without saving.

Yoosung doesn’t get mad, he just asks her about her day, asks her if she wants to cook or order in.  He’d told Yoosung about his milestones, told him about the suggestion to celebrate but he hadn’t told him that spending the day with him was his way of celebrating.  He had hoped Yoosung wouldn’t mention any of that to Jisu.

Jisu didn’t have mental health milestones, she just had bad days and good days, and no one worried that she was going to hurt herself when she had a bad day.  As hard as Saeran tried he couldn’t avoid comparing himself to her.  He’s been conditioned to, almost like his mother and Saeyoung.  But with Jisu he’d been told that _she_ was the weak one, the soft one, she had been the one to _protect_ , so at the same time not at all like Saeyoung.

Jisu worked at a school.  Saeran couldn’t even _go_ to school with his history.

“Hey,” Yoosung chirps, pulling him out of his thoughts, “I was thinking,” he trials off, a little pink rising in his cheeks.

“It was just a joke,” Jisu laughs but Yoosung turns out of her grasp to face Saeran better. “Baby I wasn’t serious.”

“No, I know but it doesn’t mean it’s not a good idea.”

“What?” Saeran asks, bad feeling momentarily suppressed by Yoosung’s nervous excitement. “What’s a good idea?”

“I want to get a tattoo, and I want you to draw it for me,” his smile reminds Saeran of a particularly satisfied puppy.

“Yoosung you know tattoos are like, a lifetime commitment right?” Saeran snorts.

“Uh,” he chuckles back, “duh, you’re one to talk.”

“Why do you even want a tattoo,” Saeran laughs as Yoosung shoves him gently.

Yoosung frowns and adjusts his glasses, Saeran makes a note to ask Yoosung when his next surgery is and snaps the elastic on his wrist when the nagging voices at the back of his head start up. “It’s just, I’m so sick of everyone calling me _cute_ , and then Jisu said that if I had a tattoo people would think I was tough.”

“It was a _joke_ though,” Jisu groans wrapping her arms around him, “a bad joke.”

“You’d just be a cute guy with a tattoo Yoosung,” Saeran smiles and shakes his head.

Yoosung blushes deeper. “I’d _l-look_ tough though,” he argues.

“Tough _and_ cute,” Jisu laughs.

“What would you even want as a tattoo?” Saeran muses.

“I-I don’t know,” Yoosung starts, excited at not being totally dismissed.  Saeran wonders how long he’s been bringing this up to Jisu.

“I’m going to bed,” she smirks and gives Yoosung a quick kiss before squeezing Saeran’s shoulder on the way past. “Please don’t let him run out and get a tattoo tonight.”

Yoosung shrugs, a lazy smile on his face as he watches her walk away. “I don’t know, anything you draw would be nice I bet.”

“Yeah but what do you _want_ ,” Saeran tries again but Yoosung just shrugs and laughs.  “Yoosung I, I don’t think I could just draw something if you don’t know what you want, it’ll be on you forever.”

Yoosung hops up off the couch and disappears into the hall for a minute before coming back holding out a black sharpie like some kind of prize.

“What are you doing?” Saeran snorts, watching Yoosung set the marker down and then start tugging at his purple hoodie.  Saeran glances away when Yoosung’s shirt catches inside the sweater, Yoosung’s stomach was soft and cute and not for him.

“J-just draw on me,” he stammers, losing his nerve. “It’ll, uh, you know it’ll be there for a day or so and I can get used to it and if I like it we can do, you know whatever you do to get a tattoo.”

Saeran laughs, “You still haven’t told me what you _want_ though.”

Yoosung groans and flops back on the couch. “I don’t _know_ ,” he whines.

Saeran shrugs and grabs the marker with one hand, pushing Yoosung’s sleeve up with the other. “I’ll draw _on_ you,” he says quietly, smirking, “but only to fuck with Jisu.  I’m not, uh I’m not going to design something for you until you can tell me what you want though.”

“That’s the problem,” Yoosung sighs, “I know I want _you_ to draw it I just don’t know what _it_ is.”

Saeran has to hold Yoosung’s arm to keep his lines steady, and despite insisting to himself that he isn’t noticing he makes notes of all the places his fingers touch that make Yoosung jump.  They talk quietly and Saeran avoids mentioning how short Jisu has been lately.  Avoids asking how common it is for her to go to bed in the middle of a movie she’s picked.

He just focuses on the marker, on the lines, on making sure everything is symmetrical.  He listens to Yoosung talk about school, about his study group and their game night.  Despite everything he’d done Yoosung had been the first person besides his brother to be kind to him and Saeran liked that Yoosung didn’t expect him to carry on the conversation.  He’d liked that Yoosung was just as happy to fill the silence as he was to have a back and forth.

He liked that when he _did_ have something to say Yoosung was always ready to listen.

He listens while he worries that maybe this design isn’t going to be as _tough_ as Yoosung wants.  He hears Yoosung mention that his optometrist thinks he could maybe try contacts after his next surgery, he tries to make sure there are stars in the collection of shapes and patterns he’s carefully filling in on Yoosung’s arm.  Tries not to notice how much muscle has formed since Yoosung started focusing more on the world outside of the internet.

He holds his breath when Yoosung smiles and runs off to check his arm in the mirror. “Wow Saeran,” he says, his eyes almost sparkle despite the low light of his apartment. “You know maybe you could do tattoos for a job, this is really cool.”

Saeran laughs, “It’s not the same thing Yoosung, it’s different than just drawing on someone.”

Yoosung shrugs. “I don’t know, I think you’d be good at it.”

“So do you think you want a real one still,” he says trying to shift the conversation away from himself.

Yoosung smiles. “I think _maybe_ , this is really cool Saeran.  You’re really talented.”

Saeran blushes and snaps the elastic on his wrist, he forces down the snide comment on the tip of his tongue and tries to come up with something better than _thank you_ , but his phone chimes in his pocket and he knows it’s his brother, come to take him home. “I’m on my way down,” he mumbles into the phone and nods at Yoosung on his way out.

His brother is quiet in the car and Saeran can’t believe it but he’d rather he be talking.  He keeps thinking back to Jisu, sometimes it was hard to sort out the feelings in his head but he’s almost certain he’s worried about her.  He frowns and tries to decide if it’s worth bringing it up.  It was probably just a few bad days, it was the end of the year, the kids in the classroom she worked in were probably rowdy, she was probably just tired.

But he was _pretty sure_ she’d been _off_ more often than not lately.  He wished there was a way to ask about her without upsetting someone.  Yoosung always seemed slightly defensive if he asked, and he couldn’t ask her directly.  She’d never taken kindly to his concern, he could respect that, it probably seemed kinda shitty when the crazy guy was worried about you.  He could ask V or Saeyoung, but they seemed more likely to humor him than actually do anything lately.

Still, maybe it was _just his conditioning_ but he was concerned about her.

“Saeyoung,” he says breaking the silence.

“Oh are we talking today?” his brother chuckles.

“Nevermind,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be like that, Saeran, what’s did you want?”

“Have you talked to Jisu lately?  She seemed weird tonight and—”

“Why do you do this to yourself,” Saeyoung sighs.

“ _What_?” There’s an edge to his brother’s voice he’s not used to.  Usually there’s a chuckle and a pat on the head and a _I’ll talk to her_ even though Saeran is pretty sure he almost never follows through.

“I thought you were going to celebrate, why would you go to them when you know how it makes you feel?”

Saeran growls, he snaps his bracelet to keep from tugging on his hair.  He clenches his jaw and inhales deeply through his nose.  “I-I like spending time with Yoosung, he doesn’t treat me like glass.”

“It’s not spending time with Yoosung that worries me, it’s Jisu.”

“It’s fine.”

“You know you can’t have him why do you torture yourself?”

“I’m not—”

“Saeran, you don’t have to make it up to either of them, you know?  They’ve forgiven you, you don’t have to do penance anymore.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” he growls.  Saeyoung thought everything was about repenting, about earning some kind of forgiveness. Well he was one to fucking talk.

“Are you sure?” his brother says softly as they pull into the garage.

He takes another deep breath, steadies his nerves and tries not to growl when he speaks. “Stop fucking projecting on me and have someone check on Jisu.”

*

Jisu had said she had plans.  When they’d woken up that morning and he was watching her get dressed he’d asked her.  He just wanted to know so he could plan his day, decide what and when to cook supper, should he come right home or run errands.  Wanted to know how to plan his day.  She’d said she was going to go home after work.

It was a full moon and the end of the year and the kids she worked with were all wound up.  She said she was tired, she said she was going to go to her apartment and go to bed early.  He’d be lying if he hadn’t been relieved, as guilty as it made him feel.

 She’d been spending more and more nights at his apartment and as much as he cared about her, as much as he loved her, sometimes he needed a break.  He’d felt more guilty on the bus home from his only class of the day when Saeran had texted him asking if he could come over.

And how could he say no when Saeran told him his news?  Yoosung would have celebrated three days, or weeks, it didn’t matter.  After everything he’d been through he was always ready to be proud of Saeran. 

Still he felt guilty, Jisu demanded his attention. Attention he didn’t mind giving but it could be exhausting, especially with finals fast approaching.  Saeran was happy just being in his space, he didn’t _have_ to do anything when Saeran was over.  He could study and Saeran would read or draw, Saeran never _needed_ conversation, they could hang out for hours without speaking a word, and sometimes he thought Saeran almost preferred those days. 

Saeran had been there for a few hours, and they’d just sat down to play video games when Jisu came through the door and things are tense for a little while.  He’s not sure, maybe it’s just him.  When she’d texted him on her way home she hadn’t mentioned changing her mind.

She’d taken the controller and he could see she was in a bad mood, he does his best to smooth things over, he knows she’ll apologize later, he also knows if he’s not careful they’ll argue before that.  She’ll wait for Saeran to leave, she always does.

She would give him hell in front of Zen or the guys from his study group, call him out in front of Jaehee, she’d slapped him once in front of Jumin and V.  But never in front of Saeran, short words were as close as it would get and lately it seemed like any time the three of them were together would lead to an argument.

So when he turned, spurred by a scene in the comedy she’d picked to watch, to ask Saeran about drawing a tattoo for him he was surprised to hear her lie.  She had put the idea in his head and it hadn’t been a joke.  Sure he was naive and sure sometimes people took advantage of that but not _that_ naïve and she’d never taken advantage of it, not even when Seven egged her on.

She’d always had his back.

And then she gets up, in the middle of a movie neither he nor Saeran had any interest in, kisses him gently and goes to _bed_.  They ignore the movie and he talks Saeran into drawing on him, since he won’t commit to drawing _for_ him.  When Saeran leaves he slips into the bathroom to take as many photos of the drawing as he can.

He loves it, Saeran had fast become his best friend, much to both of their surprise, and the drawing on his arm just proved how well Saeran knew him despite it being just under a year.  At first he’d spent time with Saeran to prove a point to himself.  That he wasn’t afraid, that no matter what Saeran had done to him he was _strong_.

But seeing Saeran in those early days had changed his mind, the man who’d hurt him didn’t exist, just a scared boy trying to look tough, something Yoosung could relate to.  So he stopped trying to prove anything to himself and started trying to prove a point to Saeran.  That he’d forgiven him.

The light is on when he approaches his bedroom and Jisu is sitting in his little twin bed on her phone.  She smiles when she sees him and when he crawls in next to her she kisses him again.  She kisses him like she had her own point to prove and Yoosung can taste peppermint on her tongue.

He pulls away and she smiles, “That’s cute baby,” her voice honey, “he did a really good job.”

“Have you been smoking?” He asks as her fingers intertwine with his.

“No,” she laughs as he pulls her hands towards his face.

“Jisu, I can smell the smoke on your hands,” he frowns, “that’s three times you lied today.”

“You’re exaggerating Yoosung, I smoked _a_ cigarette, it was a bad day it’s not a big deal.” Her voice is still light, like she thinks he’s being ridiculous.

“Why did you lie to Saeran?” He asks.

“About the tattoo thing?  I just didn’t want him to laugh at you, Yoosung,” and then _she laughs_.

“Like you are,” he says softly and she stops.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

He shakes his head, “You said you were going _home_ , but then you came here and you were _rude_ , and then you lied to Saeran even though you didn’t need to _say anything_ , and now you lied about smoking,” Yoosung sighs and stands up.  “Is there something wrong Jisu?”

Her face changes and she shrugs, “No, it’s nothing, nevermind.”

Yoosung lets out a breath in a huff and turns around.  He didn’t want to do this tonight, to argue with her and have to beg her to stay and then listen to her cry while she apologized, to shoulder the blame. “OK then,” he says quietly blinking back his tears. “I’m go-going to sleep on the couch ok? See you in the morning Jisu.”

Suddenly she has him by the back of his shirt. “Don’t be stupid Yoosung.  It was just a couple white lies I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“It’s fine,” he whispers trying to pull away as her arms slip around his waist.

“Come to bed,” she says softly, pressing kisses to his neck.

“It’s fine, go to sleep Jisu, I’m going to go play some LOLOL.”

The arms let him go and he braces himself. She shoves him and he stumbles forward a step. “Whatever,” she grumbles, “fine, do what you want I’m just _trying_ to help you.”

He should keep moving, not let her get to him, she doesn’t mean it but he can’t help _but_ turn and take the bait.  “Help me how?”

“No, you’re right,” she says a wicked smirk on her face, “go on.”

He bites his tongue, they’d all been through a lot, he thinks about maybe calling Jumin in the morning, asking him to talk to V.  He can’t bring up what happened to Jisu, he’d tried once and she’d disappeared for a week.  He shakes his head and turns.

“I just don’t trust him with you,” she calls after him.

He doesn’t wake up when she leaves, he wonders if maybe she’d gone while he was on his computer with his headphones on. He can’t stop thinking about what she’s said but when he calls her there’s no answer.  He calls Saeran but he knows he won’t get an answer from his best friend.  Saeran almost never answered for anyone but V and Saeyoung.

No one is in the chatroom.

He makes himself breakfast.  Things with Jisu only seemed to get worse.  He cared deeply for her but he wonders if that’s enough anymore, if it’s the same thing as love.  _No_ he chides himself, it’s easy to think of leaving when things are tough and Jisu deserved more than that from him.

When his phone vibrates on the table while he’s eating he doesn’t even look, he just answers the phone.

“Yoosung,” Saeyoung sings, “my widdle Yoosung!”

“What?” Yoosung yawns.

“You don’t have plans today right?”

“I don’t know,” Yoosung shrugs.

“Come out come out wherever you are,” he calls.

Yoosung groans.

“I’m downstairs, I’ve got the biggest icecream cake I could find in my car, I know your girlfriend has top secret RFA stuff with the business boys today, so come help Saeran celebrate!”

_I just don’t trust him with you_. The words ring in his head. “Yes,” he answers shoving the last of his omelet in his mouth. “Be right down,” he says through the mouthful.

Saeran is still in his PJs when they get there, he stops and frowns before he flops down boneless on the couch.  He runs a hand through his shaggy red hair and Yoosung smiles. “I guess you get to celebrate after all.”

“Your idea?” Saeran asks.

Yoosung shakes his head.

“Is everything ok with Jisu?” Saeran isn’t sure why he asks, where the filter between his brain and his mouth is.  Normally it works over time when he’s around Yoosung.  But Saeyoung is in the kitchen singing his stupid made up celebration song and he can’t help but wonder why Yoosung is alone.

Yoosung tenses for a minute and then smiles, “She’s just having a bad week at the school,” Yoosung shrugs, but he looks at Saeran’s eyebrows while he speaks rather than into his eyes.

“Do you put candles on a mental health cake?” Saeyoung yells from the kitchen.

“Fuck off” Saeran shouts back.

But he laughs when Saeyoung presents the huge party sized ice cream cake with 3 spoons and a dozen sparkles.  It says ‘I don’t swim in your toilet so don’t pee in my pool’ on it and he’s singing his stupid _congrats on being slightly less crazy_ song. 

It takes them all day and it’s basically ice cream soup by the time they’re done.  The coffee table is a mess and the three of them feel more than a little sick.  Saeyoung is groaning and clutching his stomach dramatically with his head next to a puddle of melted icecream on the table.  Sarean is sprawled along one end of the couch with one arm over his eyes and the other under his sweater rubbing at his gurgling stomach. 

Yoosung is on the floor, head thrown back against the seat of the couch, swallowing another belch when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

“Baby,” Jisu whines on the other end, “I’m at your place, where are you.”

He fails at swallowing another belch.

“Did you have study group tonight?” She asks.

“No, I’m—”

“When are you coming home,” she asks following up with a sing song, “I’m cooking.”

He groans, “I’m at the bunker, I’m uh, I’m sorry we ate.”

He can hear the sound of her sucking on her teeth. “Oh.”

“You didn’t answer when I called,” he points out, “a-and Saeyoung just showed up, and—”

The phone is pulled from his hand and Saeyoung is walking away, chirping and cooing and playing the peace keeper.  Saeran is walking away too, towards his room.  Yoosung pushes himself up to sit properly on the couch, trying not to jump when Saeran’s door slams.

“Come on Yoosung,” Saeyoung says frowning at the empty spot where his brother was, “I’ll drive you home.”

Saeyoung is unusually quiet in the car.

“Sorry,” Yoosung says, he knows there’s nothing really to apologize for but he feels like he’s somehow ruined the day.

“For what?” Saeyoung says, cocking his head.    Yoosung shrugs.  When they stop outside his building Saeyoung holds his arm out keeping Yoosung there.  “Is she like this a lot?” he asks quietly.

He shrugs again. “Sometimes,” he says quietly. “She just has bad days sometimes.”

Saeyoung sighs. “More lately?”

Yoosung is suddenly aware how close it is to the anniversary.  “I guess,” he says carefully.  “It’s not, she’s just grumpy you know?”

“Paranoid?” Saeyoung offers.

“No,” Yoosung shakes his head.  But then he remembers, “I mean I guess maybe a little, she said she doesn’t _trust_ Saeran with me?”

Saeyoung sighs.

“Which is weird right?” Yoosung asks, spurred on.  If Saeyoung was worried that meant maybe it was more serious than a few bad days.

“Yoosung,” Saeyoung starts, and he can see the conflict on his face while he chooses his words, “do you know,” he pauses and fixes his glasses, “is she taking her medication.”

Yoosung frowns.  He’d never seen Jisu take anything more than an edvil.  He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t _know_ , I—she’s never,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I didn’t know she needed to.”

Saeyoung nods, “it’s ok Yoosung, it’s not a big deal, do you want me to come up with you?”

He bristles at the suggestion, that he can’t handle his own angry girlfriend.  He shakes his head.  It’s his fault, he could have left a message or tried to call her again or lied to Saeyoung and said he was busy and just not gone. 

Saeyoung rolls down his window to tease Yoosung as he walks away and he’s not sure why but he turns and walks back to the car. “Why doesn’t she trust Saeran?” He asks. “I mean I’m not stupid but it can’t be that?  Right?  He’s come so far.”’

Saeyoung looks away, “You’re right it’s not about what happened to you in the mountain but,” he swallows, “if you don’t know I can’t say.”

Yoosung frowns at him.

“It’s nothing ok?” Saeyoung says sharply.  “Don’t worry about it.”

The window rolls up, and Yoosung watches Seven drive away more confused than he was in the first place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for hallucinations and panic attacks

Saeran decides no matter what he’s not going to call Yoosung on the anniversary.  As kind and understanding as Yoosung is he doesn’t want to force him into having to pretend to be ok.  He figures as shitty as he feels in the few days leading up to it Yoosung must feel worse. 

So when the day comes and Yoosung’s number flashes across the screen of his phone he’s not exactly sure what to do.  When the phone stops chiming he sets it down, it’s barely a minute before he hears it vibrate on the table next to him.

[Yoosung Kim]: Hey are you up?  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: No  
[Yoosung Kim]: Sorry  
[Yoosung Kim]: Wait, shut up. 

Saeran chuckles softly to himself as his phone rings again.  He answers it this time, resigned.  If Yoosung wanted to talk to him today, that was Yoosung’s business.

“Are you doing anything?” Yoosung asks.

 Saeran makes a non-committal noise. He had music therapy in a half hour but she came to the Bunker.  Yoosung probably wants to talk.  Yoosung always had to talk when he felt bad, the opposite of every instinct Saeran had ever had.

“You should come over.”

 _Oh_. “Uh, no I,” he clears his throat, “I have an appointment this morning Yoosung.”

“Oh,” Yoosung says quietly, “I guess I should have figured but—”

“You can come over,” Saeran says, running his fingers through his hair.  Why was he saying that he should have just left it alone.  “In an hour or whatever, if you want.”

“Are you sure?” Yoosung says cautiously.  “I-I know sometimes you feel, _you know_ or—”

“It’s not that kind of appointment,” Saeran smiles to himself but then it occurs to him, “Is Jisu coming?”

“No,” and there’s something in his voice that Saeran can’t place.  “She’s chaperoning a field trip today, it’s _just me_.”

Sometimes Saeran forgets that everyone processes things differently.  Despite how often it comes up in his therapy, despite being reminded so often just by watching his brother.  Of course Jisu would want to be away from all of them today, and of course Yoosung wouldn’t want to be.  For his part Saeran had purposely made his appointment for today to distract himself.

He says goodbye to Yoosung and stretches.  If today was going to be that kind of day he was going to have to start getting ready to pretend to be human.

*

Saeran hadn’t given him a specific time, he had said an hour or _whatever_ , so Yoosung figures that 45 minutes was probably ok, it gave him time in case the bus was late.  He hadn’t expected to feel so off today.  It was different than the off he felt around high school graduation time, the way grief would have him buried in junk food and lost in LOLOL.

He had wanted to spend the day with Jisu, to try to cover those memories with something else.  Maybe go for a walk or have a picnic, try to be somewhere that he couldn’t see his reflection.  He hoped he’d have contacts this time next year.  He didn’t mind his glasses most days, even kind of liked the way they seemed to make people take him a little more seriously but today they just brought to mind the reason he had to wear them.

But Jisu had volunteered to Chaperon a field trip instead of accepting the paid day off.  More and more lately he felt like an afterthought.  He didn’t expect her to put him above her in any way, but he’d like to come at least second sometimes.  Lately it felt like he barely made the top five.  And when he had expressed this to her last night she’d been defensive and regardless of her tone he couldn’t argue with her logic.  She worked with kids like the twins, underprivileged, lacking resources, making sure they had the support they needed.  It would have been selfish to have been angry with her really.

He had completely expected Saeran to ignore him today.  He knew the way his best friend tended to handle guilt, and he was unsurprised when he’d heard him say he had an appointment.  What surprised him was the invitation.  Yoosung didn’t know the details of Saeran’s recovery, he knew he saw a number of people for different therapies but he never seemed to want to talk about them so Yoosung resisted his urge to ask.

He gets off the bus a stop too early so he can stop at bakery he likes and try to kill some time but he still manages to be early.  The gate is unlocked and he wonders if Saeran had expected him to be early or if Saeyoung had just seen him coming.

Inside the Bunker Yoosung can hear loud music from somewhere nearby.  Saeran and Saeyoung tended to keep their music to their headphones; they had pretty different tastes in music.  But this was _different_.  It’s softer than he’s used to either twin listening to and he thinks there’s an _accordion_?  A woman is singing at first and then suddenly, as he’s juggling the box of pastries and trying to untie his sneakers, the music picks up and he’s pretty sure it’s Saeran singing.

There’s a little amp on the wood floor and he thinks he might have been right about the accordion though he’s not a hundred percent certain if that’s what the woman sitting next to Saeran has on her lap.  Saeran has an electric guitar and his eyes are narrowed on a piece of paper on the table as he sings the song.  Eyes that focus through thick round black frames.  Golden eyes like Saeyoung’s.

Yoosung had never seen Saeran wear glasses before.  Saeran had never mentioned it.  He didn’t know Saeran could play music, or sing either.

He can’t help but clap when they finish and Saeran jumps, eyes a little wide, cheeks a little pink.  The woman beside him smiles and shakes her head.

“You were right, I guess I owe you,” she chuckles.

Saeran shrugs. 

“I uh, I can go for a walk if you want,” Yoosung offers, until you’re done I don’t mind. I thought you were going somewhere or I wouldn’t have been so early.  I’m sorry.”

 The barest smile curves Saeran’s lips when Yoosung starts to babble. “I-it’s fine,” he says.  “Doc, that’s Yoosung.”

She nods in his direction. “We should do one more song, did you want to try that again or something else?”  Saeran shrugs again.  “Ok well we’ve done these two separately but I know you like the cover that mixes them up wanna try it?”

“You’ll uh, you’ll have to lead it,” Saeran says quietly as Yoosung drops the box on the coffee table and sits on the couch with the widest grin on his face.

“I’m not running out to my car for another guitar because you’re _embarrassed_ ,” she teases and starts tapping out a beat on the dining table. 

Saeran comes in with the guitar as she starts to sing, his focus is on the woman beside him and it’s only a few bars before he seems to relax a little.  She nods a and he sings a few words. And then by the chorus they’re just singing together.  It seemed more like a couple friends at a party rather than a therapy appointment.  Saeran is even smiling by the time the song winds down.

They both stand and for the first time Yoosung notices all the instruments lying around the bunker.  The Doctor starts to collect them and when Saeran slips the guitar in it’s case and picks up another smaller closed case she shakes her head.

“Nah Boss, keep it for now ok?”

He stops and shakes his head. “No that’s ok, I’m uh, Saeyoung was going to take me—”

She laughs, “It’s cool it was a garage sale score and I owe you one right?  Gotta pay my debts,” she gives him a little shove with her shoulder and grabs the other case from him despite already being laden with at least 5 more and nods her head towards the garage. “Get the door and then I’ll leave you guys to whatever you have planned.”

Yoosung watches the two of them disappear around the corner to the garage he hears the doctor call out _don’t do anything I wouldn’t do_ , and Saeran is shaking his head as he backs out of the little hall. “Like what,” he snorts, “smoke meth?”

There’s a cackle in the distance.

“ _That’s_ your _doctor_ ,” Yoosung says when Saeran flops down on the other end of the couch.

“One of them,” he says with a wobble of his head, “she’s not technically a doctor I guess but whatever.  My therapist thought music therapy would be a good idea.”

“Does it work?” Yoosung asks earnestly.

Saeran’s eyebrows knit together and his nose wrinkles while he considers. “I guess sometimes, I’ve only been doing it for a little while but,” he shrugs, “yeah I think so.”

“That’s really cool,” Yoosung smiles, forgetting why he was here, which subsequently was exactly why he’d come.  “Can you play something for me?”

Saeran tries to stop his eyes from going wide, instead he focuses on Yoosung’s broad smile, the way Yoosung’s glasses had slipped a little down his nose, making him absently adjust his own glasses while he blushed. “I-uh, I guess I could.  I could try, but you can’t—I’m just starting to get the hang of it so—”

“ _Really_?  You sounded really good though.”

Saeran blushes deeper and moves to get the guitar case he’d left on the dining table.  The amp is still in the middle of the floor so he plugs in and sits on one of the wooden chairs.  He doesn’t look at Yoosung , staring down as he starts to pick at the strings.  Yoosung recognizes the song as Saeran starts to sing.  The whole thing being played just a little slower than it’s supposed to be.

When he comes into the second verse of the song he lifts his eyes but he continues to look past the blond boy leaning over the back of the couch to watch him.  His face is almost as red as his hair by the time he hits the bridge but his mouth is curved in the barest hint of a smile.

It’s only when he sings the last line of the song, his voice slightly shaking since the bridge, that he looks at Yoosung, and Yoosung can’t help but blush with Saeran’s golden eyes on him.

Saeran stands as soon as he’s done and starts to unplug everything.  He puts the guitar back in it’s case and unplugs the amp and drags both out of sight down the hall to his room.  He moves so fast, like he wants to make sure Yoosung doesn’t ask him to play something else.  Like Yoosung might not take no for an answer. 

Like he wouldn’t be able to refuse him if he asked.

Yoosung doesn’t know what it is about Saeran with glasses. It wasn’t like he looked anymore like Saeyoung, for identical twins they were surprisingly easy to tell apart. Still there was a measure of vulnerability in those golden eyes that wasn’t visible when he wore his striking green contacts.

Yoosung is still contemplating what secrets his best friend’s eyes might hold when a bag of chips is dangled in front of his face.  He snatches them out of the air with a chirp of delight while Saeran suppresses a small snort of laughter and plops down beside him with a pint of ice cream.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Yoosung says, to fill the silence.

“You thought I stuck my fingers in my eyes every morning for fun?” Saeran grunts turning the TV on and handing the remote to Yoosung.

Yoosung blushes and opens up Netflix.  Just like Saeran suspects Yoosung knows exactly what he wants to put on. “No I just thought, I mean I assumed it was just, you know your look?”

Saeran had gotten very good at faking emotions so that he didn’t worry the people around him, at knowing when to fake a smile or force a laugh, but he never had to when he was alone with Yoosung.  The laughter that bubbles past his lips is genuine and the blush on Yoosung’s cheeks deepens.  “The version of me in your head is way more hardcore than I really am.  I couldn’t get my contacts in this morning, happens sometimes.”

Yoosung picks a movie they’ve both seen a hundred times, one _both_ of them enjoy.  They talk through the lulls and pause to watch their favorite scenes, picking up their conversation with ease each time.  As the movie winds down and they’ve fallen into comfortable silence Saeran notices Yoosung fidgeting with a hole in his jeans.

He tries to ignore it, but when the credits start to role Yoosung looks at him earnestly and huffs.

“What?” Saeran frowns.

“I just, I wanted to ask you something,” Yoosung says carefully, “but uh, I don’t want to, because you know today is, it’s just,” he sighs and runs his hand through his hair.  “It can wait.”

Saeran shrugs. “I don’t know, today hasn’t been as bad as I thought.”

“ _Really_?” Yoosung asks leaning forward. “I mean I only called you because I thought you’d ignore me but I guess.  I just—”

“I think uh,” Saeran scratches the back of his neck and glances away. “I don’t know I think that you being here and normal or whatever helped.  You know?  Like it enforced that I’m not that person anymore or something.  I felt pretty shitty earlier but I don’t know.  Maybe that just means everything is working,” he shrugs.

“Oh,” Yoosung smiles at him.  “That’s good, I was worried you just said yes because you felt guilty.  I almost—”

“So what did you want to ask me?” Saeran inturupts.

“Oh, no” Yoosung shakes his head, “it can wait, I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Come on Yoosung, test my theory, what is it?”

“It’s just yesterday the optometrist called with my next surgery date and I thought maybe I could ask you to come with me?”  His voice pitches up at the end of the question and he scrunches his eyes closed like maybe he’d snipped the wrong wire defusing a bomb.

Saeran has to stop himself from responding right away.  There’s the initial pang of guilt at going to a surgery Yoosung was having because of him, but then the curiosity.  Jisu would normally go with him, sometimes with Jumin.  No one ever asked him to go, he wasn’t sure if it was to spare him the guilt or to spare Yoosung the reminder.

He wants to ask about Jisu, why him this time, but he doesn’t.  His therapist had asked him to start evaluating his motivations for these questions.  Was he just punishing himself by having Yoosung confirm that they were doing well, was he looking for false hope, or was he genuinely interested or concerned.  If he couldn’t say, he shouldn’t ask.

“I’m sorry,” Yoosung says, misinterpreting the furrowed brow and silence.

“No,” he shakes his head, “it’s not—you don’t usually ask me.”  He chooses his words carefully.  This isn’t about Jisu and Yoosung or any kind of false hope.  He’s simply curious why Yoosung would ask him instead of literally anyone else.

“Oh,” Yoosung smirks a little but very quickly a frown clouds his face. “It’s just that, Jisu has been so busy lately, and school will be out but I just—I don’t know if she’ll have the time so I thought, you’re not usually busy you know?”

“I don’t drive either.” Saeran points out.

“That’s ok, as long as I have sunglasses we can take the bus.”

It’s a few days later when Jisu calls.  He doesn’t think anything of it.  They don’t talk on the phone often but things have seemed less tense when he’d last seen her and it’s seemed like things between her and Yoosung had been better.  So when she’s less than friendly he’s taken mildly aback.

“You need to stop this,” she growls into the phone.

“I, uh, what?  What did I do?” He stammers walking outside to sit at the little wooden picnic table in the back yard where his brother couldn’t hear him.

“You know what,” her voice is low and aggressive and he wonders if she’s alone or if she’s with Yoosung. 

He has no idea what she’s talking about.  She had been aware of his feelings for Yoosung but he’s come so far, and he’s never crossed boundaries.  He was finally starting to feel at peace with his place in Yoosung’s heart.  But there were always the incidents.

He leans over the table with his head in his hands, he hadn’t had one in months, not since before his last hospitalization and there was always some _sign_ , waking up somewhere strange and not knowing how he’d gotten there. 

The last time he’d been standing at the gate to the bunker with his hands busted up like he’d been in a fight, they’d scanned hospitals and police reports but there had been nothing to indicate if he’d hurt someone.  The time before he’d been on the couch covered in his own blood after breaking the windows out of one of his brother’s cars.  Then there were all the times he’d woken up on top of Saeyoung, fists beating on raised arms or wrapped around his throat. 

He chews on the inside of his cheek and swallows before he answers.

“Jisu,” he says quietly, “I-I don’t remember, did I hurt someone.”

He can hear her sigh and when she starts again her voice is softer. “No, Saeran, oh no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean _that_ it’s just—”

“You’re sure?” he says trying to suppress the mild panic in his voice.

“Saeran no, it’s only,” she stops again, gathering her words, “we can’t keep doing this you know?”

“Doing what?”  He knows what she means as soon as she says it but he wants her to say it.  He needs her to.

“Saeran,” she says and he can hear the pity in her voice, “it’s not _good_ for you.  Yoosung isn’t— he doesn’t like you like that.”

“I know that,” Saeran chews at the torn skin around his thumb.

“It can’t be good for you,” she says softly and he _knows_ she isn’t thinking about him, the way she says it too sweetly.  The way she always said things to Savior when she wanted to see him punished.  Like they hadn’t been deconstructed and put back together with the same pot of glue.

“You mean it’s not good for _you_ ,” he says forcing himself to speak calmly.  He can see his brother watching him through the window.

“Fine,” she says with a hint of bitterness. “Every time he talks about you I think of _her_ , is that what you want to hear?”

“Jisu,” he says her name with genuine softness, he had wanted her to say it but he hadn’t wanted it to be true.  “You know that we’re not those people anymore.  I don’t—”

“Save it,” she interrupts coldly, “it’s all bullshit.  Every time I have to hear what you’ve done for him, or the funny thing you said, I just hear her and the way she called him the prize and the way your eyes lit up when you thought you’d win him.”

Every instinct tells him to argue back, but that small part of him actually benefiting from his appointments knows it would only prove her point.  So he takes a deep breath before he speaks again. “Have you uh, _talked_ to anyone—”

“I don’t _need_ to,” she insists. “Just—just stop, he’s mine, I won.  You need to understand that ok?  He’s a person not a prize Saeran, you can’t just _take_ him from me.”

“I _know_ that, Jisu,” he tells her.

“So stop,” she says firmly.  “Just _stop_.”

“What happened,” he asks, trying another approach.  It feels strange to him, being on this side of a conversation.  It’s a surreal feeling to be the grounded one for once. Especially with her.

“Oh fuck off,” she growls, “ _you’re_ going to go to his surgery with him?  Like I don’t even exist, like you’re not the _whole reason_ —I won you lost, stop.”

“I didn’t,” it throws him off the way she growls and accuses him.  Even in the middle of the drugs and abuse and everything with Mint Eye she’d always been the composed one, sadistic in a different way than him. 

The way she’d read the excitement in his eyes when Savior had offered up the innocent little puppy with the purple eyes to whichever one of them brought her the RFA.  He’d want to collar him and lead him around, give him a bed in his workroom and call him his little prince. 

But Jisu had her own plans and she’d made him watch powerless in the chatroom while she trained the puppy to be her guard dog.

“I don’t know _what_ you said—”

“Jisu you need to talk to V,” he says carefully, trying not to let all those feelings from before spill over, trying to get through this so he can go to his room and get the xanax from his drawer.  “Listen to you, telling me he’s not a possession with one breath and then calling him a prize in the next.”

“I don’t need to,” she growls, her voice getting even quieter, “ _I’m_ not the crazy one, ok?”

There it was. Of course she wasn’t, she was always well adjusted always better at keeping it together.  If she had have been a little less independent, a little more frightened, maybe he wouldn’t be here right now.  Listening to her like this.

“I’m not saying that,” he says but he can’t keep that edge out of his voice as his nails dig into his palm.  “I’ll uh,” he sucks in a breath, he doesn’t want to say it but he wants to keep the peace, to be the rational one instead of giving in to her and arguing back.  “I won’t call him anymore,” he says quietly, “tell him you’ll take him to the surgery, whatever, I was only doing it because he asked me.”

“Good,” and there’s an almost immediate lightness to her voice.

“But,” he can’t help but add, “if he calls me or if he comes here I’m not going to send him away.”

“That’s not—”

“He’s a person not a prize Jisu, that’s what _you_ said, I won’t _seek him out_ , because _you_ asked me to but if he wants to see me you know he’ll find a way.”

She growls starts to respond but he hangs up.  There’s nothing left but the shaking of his hands, and the ragged way he’s breathing.  Saeyoung is already standing at the door with his meds when he pushes it open, handing him one little pill and a bottle of water.

His brother wraps his arms around him once he’s swallowed, ignorant of the water that spills out of the bottle when he drops it.  Saeran lets his head drop to his brother’s shoulder while he tries to focus on his breathing.  He doesn’t notice Saeyoung leading him away from the door, doesn’t notice when they fall into a heap on the old couch.

When he finally catches his breath and pushes away from his brother he has no idea how long it’s been since he ended that horrible call.  He blinks and leans back letting his head flop back against the couch feeling all the little aches in his muscles.

“What happened,” Saeyoung asks quietly, “who was on the phone.”

He shakes his head.  He’s not sure he wants to tell Saeyoung yet, Jisu was always better than him but even she had her moments.  He hopes that she can see that there’s something wrong, he wants to give her a chance to ask for help before he tells on her.  He hopes that she would do the same for him.

“Nothing,” he croaks, his voice hoarse, “it was nothing just a, there was a sound outside. It, _you know_.”

He can see in Saeyoung’s eyes that he knows he’s lying but he doesn’t push. “Well I think that calls for ice cream,” his brother forces a smile and pushes himself up off the couch.

“It’s fine, Saeyoung,” Saeran groans pushing himself up also, “I’m just going to go to bed. I’m tired.”

“Oh, ok.”

It’s dark when he hears his brother in the doorway.  He’s not sure how long he’s been awake, or if he’d only been dreaming that he was.  He’d been lying on his back with his arms behind his head listening to the voices in the hall.  The scared little boy and the monster from under the bed arguing about him, if he was redeemable, if he deserved this, if she was right.  Neither could agree and even though he knew they weren’t real, even though he _knew_ they were just some crossed wire inside his head he sort of wanted to see what they decided on.

He can’t hear the conclusion of their conversation over the rattle of the pill bottle in his door way.  “I called Dr. Rhee,” Saeyoung says softly, “I hope that’s ok.”

Saeran shrugs.  It was frustrating to know his brother could just call his doctor but as much as it sucked at least there was someone who cared, someone who wanted him around.  He wonders if the hallucinations took these things into consideration when they talked about him.

Saeyoung sits on the edge of the bed and waits for him to sit up.  He hands him another bottle of water and a pill.  “I told him what you’d taken today and he suggested another of these.”

He takes the pill from his brother and chases it with the entire bottle of water.  Saeyoung smirks and produces two more bottles from the pockets of his hoodie. “Thanks,” he says taking them from him and cracking another one.

“Thought you might be thirsty. You should probably take those out,” he points to his eyes, “you know unless you’re getting up now.”

Saeran yawns and waits, just in case his brother had his case and solution hidden in his stupid sweater somewhere.

Saeyoung follows him to the bathroom and leans on the door frame while Saeran digs through the medicine cabinet.  At first he’d been put off by this routine, he’d lash out and yell and make things worse.  He’d liked the pained way Saeyoung would look at him while he screamed at him.  But now he didn’t mind.  Almost didn’t even notice.

The panic attacks didn’t happen so much anymore, _the big kahunas_ , his brother called them.  Normally he could feel them coming, he was getting better at fighting them off or medicating appropriately to bypass the whole thing.

“So _I_ know, that _you know_ , that I know you lied,” Saeyoung smirks from underneath waggling eyebrows, but he looks away quickly when Saeran pinches the first contact from his eye.

“Uh huh,” Saeran hums rinsing it off with generous spray of solution.

“I don’t want to pry, if I’m wrong you don’t have to tell me,” he starts, glancing away when Saeran smirks and pries open his other eye.  “I mean I’d like if you told me, but you don’t have to if you think you can handle it or you’d rather talk to Dr. Rhee or Ms. Cheong or whoever.”

“Spit it out,” Saeran groans shoving his things back into the medicine cabinet and shutting the door quickly before anything fell out.

“It’s Jisu right?”

He shrugs and nods. “Don’t uh, don’t tell V or Jumin ok?”

“Saeran is it, how bad is it?”

He shrugs again. “I don’t know she’s—I think it’s just the anniversary and the end of the school year and Yoosung’s exams, you know.  She’s probably stressed out, don’t worry about it.”

“You don’t have to lie to me if you’re worried about her,” his brother says softly following him out to the couch.

“I’m always worried about her,” Saeran sighs flopping down and pointing at the freezer.  “It’s one of those annoying fucking habits that won’t go away, like you always taking care of me.”

His brother chuckles while he fetches a half eaten pint of cookie dough ice cream from the freezer for him. “No one else likes us enough, we gotta take care of each other little buddy.”

“Ugh,” Saeran groans but he’s smiling when he snatches the ice cream out of his brother’s hand.

“It’s just, you know we have you and her, and no samples of whatever the magic potion was, so if you’re _worried_ , you can tell me.”

Saeran frowns and sits up. “I thought you went back for that stuff.”

“We _did_ ,” Saeyoung says glancing away, “but there was nothing left, it was a burned out shell.”

“That’s why you had another pill for me, you called Rhee because you had _bad news_ not because I had a panic attack.”

Saeyoung shrugs and does his best to look guilty. “Listen V didn’t want me to tell you but he left it up to me, so if you’re pissed off be pissed off at me ok?”

Saeran is quiet for a minute. He’s not sure what he is. “Do you, I mean that means there are still _believers_ out there somewhere,” he says quietly.  “And you’re asking me because you think—”

“No,” he shakes his head, “no I don’t but I know she hasn’t been herself lately so I thought you should know.”

“Why?” Saeran asks.  “Why tell me now?”

“Because only three of us know that she’s been off,” he says quietly, “and only two of us know what really happened then, and you know her best, so even though it’s unlikely I thought you should know.”

*  
She’s smiling when she walks out of her bedroom and his instinct is to smile back.  He feels like she hasn’t smiled at him in weeks, not when they were alone at least.  It’s short lived and Yoosung can feel something menacing about the smile before she’s even made it to the kitchen.

“I thought you went to change,” he says continuing to cut vegetables, aware that his words were more dangerous than the knife in his hands.

“Oh,” she says glancing down, “I got a call, I forgot.”

It’s a lie, he knows it is, she’s been lying more and more lately and he’s simply stopped acknowledging it.  “A good call?” he says instead

“Not exactly,” she smiles hugging him from behind and resting her chin on his shoulder.  “Saeran called, he said he’s busy next week so I’ll go to the hospital with you ok?”

She’s still lying.  He sets the knife down on the cutting board and turns to face her.  Searching her face for some answer, a sign that it might be worth having this argument.  The way she watches him is a challenge, they both know that she’s lying and she waits for him to call her out.

Yoosung can’t decide if he wants to argue with her tonight. “Mmm hmm,” he hums washing his hands and reaching for a pan from the dish rack, “what’s he doing, he doesn’t normally have appointments on Wednesdays.”  He wants to see how deep she’ll dig this hole.

“He didn’t say,” she smiles, rocking on her heels and handing him a wooden spoon, “just said something came up.  I hope it’s important, I’d hate to think he’s blowing you off.”

“I’ll call him after we eat,” Yoosung says softly.  “You know in case he’s just worried or something.”

“I don’t think you need to,” she says into his neck.

“Maybe I’ll go over tomorrow after my exam and talk to him,” he shrugs.

“I thought we were going to get lunch,” she pouts.

“After that then,” he shrugs again.  “I don’t know, I just thought it might be good for him to see that I trust him you know?”

“Yeah ok,” she grumbles. “Fine, whatever.”

But he doesn’t go over after lunch the next day, doesn’t call Saeran or text him.  He avoids him in the chatroom.  He’s not sure exactly why, he tells himself he’s testing something, trying to disprove that little nagging feeling at the back of his mind but that’s only part of it.

He doesn’t want to face it, doesn’t want to catch her in another lie, not right now.  If he does, if she’s lying about these things then he’s going to have to do something, and things had been going so well. He wants to ignore it, to hold out until life settles down and give her time. _It’s probably just stress_ , he keeps telling himself but somewhere he knows he’s lying to himself.

He doesn’t want to end it here, not like this.  It feels too easy to leave when things are tough and he’d hate to be the one to hurt her, but he can only take so much more.

It’s two days before his surgery when he sees Saeran sitting outside of a chain coffee shop with a brightly coloured drink and a sketchbook. Yoosung smiles so wide his face hurts and Saeran hasn’t even looked at him.  He notices he’s wearing his glasses again and despite the heat his hair is pulled out of his face with a loose knit hat.

“Hey,” Yoosung calls as he crosses the street to talk to him.  He calls out a few more times before Saeran looks up.

He glances around nervously before his eyes settle on Yoosung.   “Oh, uh, hey,” he says, his mouth twitching into the tiniest of smiles before he looks back down at his drawing.

“Do you mind?” Yoosung asks sitting across from him.

He shrugs, “It’s a free country.”

It’s quiet, not quite comfortably so, but almost.  As though the familiarity of sitting silently together cancels out the thickness in the air, the taste of all the things neither of them are saying.

After a while Saeran finishes his drink, the slurping sound making Yoosung jump and look up from his phone.  Saeran smirks but he doesn’t look at him.  He starts to pack up when Yoosung asks, “Can I see your drawing?”

Saeran looks up, eyes a little wide, before he nods slowly, turning the sketchbook and sliding it over to Yoosung.  Yoosung flips through a few pages, there are a bunch of sketches on each one.  The man sitting behind him, a tree growing out of the sidewalk, the store front, an empty table with a pile of trash on it.

“Just fucking around you know,” Saeran shrugs.

“These are really good,” Yoosung beams at him and hands the sketchbook back.

Saeran shrugs and sticks it inside his bag.  They sit at the table quietly again, just looking at each other, both trying to think of something they can say while avoiding the obvious things they’d rather ask.

“You uh, you look nice,” Yoosung says quietly.

“Really?” He frowns looking down at the flannel shirt he wore, “Saeyoung sang a song about lumberjacks when I was eating breakfast but I didn’t give enough fucks to change.”

“I like uh, your hat, you know?  It looks good with your glasses.”

Saeran blushes and looks away again. “I couldn’t get my contacts in again, I think it’s allergies but Saeyoung thinks it’s my meds, he keeps telling me to drink more water.”

“Gross,” Yoosung snorts.

“Yeah, fish fuck in that,” Saeran smiles and they both laugh.  “I gotta go though, it was nice seeing you Yoosung,” Saeran doesn’t smile when he says it and the words sound like a more final goodbye than anything Saeran has ever said.

“W-wait,” Yoosung stammers standing up. “Can I ask you something?”

He watches Saeran chewing on the inside of his cheek before he answers. “Yoosung,” there’s a warning tone to his voice, “do you really want to know?”

Yoosung swallows and nods, “Did she ask you not to talk to me.”

Saeran nods.

“Why?”

“You’d have to ask her,” he shrugs and walks away.


	3. Chapter 3

“Did you talk to Yoosung yesterday?”  Saeran can barely hear his brother over the hum of his guitar in his headphones.  He pretends he doesn’t hear and continues to play the song he’d played for Yoosung  almost a week ago.  It felt like months now, especially after yesterday.

“Saeran,” Saeyoung lifts one of the headphones when he says his name.

“Yeah I guess,” he shrugs and continues playing.  He focuses on fingers pressing against the strings, fifth fret, third fret, G chord, A minor; his brother moves in front of him and he can see Saeyoung’s stupid unicorn socks sticking out from under his jeans. 

He groans and stops, but takes his time.  He unplugs the guitar, his headphones, the amp.  He puts everything away, ignoring his unmoving brother who is now out of place in the middle of the floor with his things now stowed away.  “What?”

“I got a call,” Saeyoung says quietly.  “Two calls really,” he corrects himself. “I got two calls today and we need to talk about them.”

Saeran shrugs. “You’re not holding out a pharmacy, so why do you look so fucking grim?”

“You were pretty clear that you didn’t want me to talk to V about Yoosung and Jisu but I think I’m going to have to, and I thought you should know.”

Saeran runs a hand through his hair and scowls. “What does this have to do with me?”

“I think we both know exactly what this has to do with you,” Saeyoung snorts and takes off his glasses. “Sorry it’s just, Jisu called me first.  _She_ is not as considerate as you, sh—”

“She never fucking was, but you’re all so goddamned gullible—” Saeyoung holds up a hand.

“Ok point taken.  Listen she wants me to take you somewhere, and we both now that she’s not herself,” Saeran starts to interrupt but his brother stops him, “ok we know she’s not _well_ , I want you to know that I am behind you on this but—”

“Yeah yeah if V wants me to get assessed too I won’t fight it, the new meds seem to be working, things have been easier even with _this._   It’s fine. _”_

“Oh,” Saeyoung says, mouth slightly open while his brother glowers at him.

“Did you think I was going to fucking argue?”

Saeyoung looks embarrassed, “it’s just I know you still have issues with V giving orders and—”

“It’s fine,” he snaps, “what else, you said two calls.”

“Yoosung called, he’s worried about her and he wanted me to talk to V for him.”

Saeran shrugs. “I don’t, I guess I don’t see either of them anymore, so maybe it’s worse.”  Saeyoung nods.  “I don’t know. The way she was maybe it’s been worse for a while.  Whatever, do what you have to do.”

“You know,” his brother says cautiously,” I know I give you shit for torturing yourself but you smile more when you’re talking to him so maybe I’m full of shit.”

Saeran shakes his head and makes to go outside when his brother stops him.

“You should call him, I know she told you not to and you’re trying to keep the peace but if you want to call him—”

Saeran shakes his head. “None of you know what she’s capable of.”

*

Yoosung jumps when the door to his apartment opens.  He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, he’s only _just_ talked with Saeyoung and his friend had seemed reluctant to do anything Yoosung had asked of him.  Jisu is smiling, bags of takeout dangling from her hands as she pushes the door closed with her foot.

“Hey babe,” she smiles and holds up the bag, “I thought I’d make sure we could get through the next few days.

Of course Saeyoung didn’t work that fast, especially if he had to go through V or Jumin.

Jisu heaves the bags up on the counter and wraps her arms around him, “I downloaded a crap ton of podcasts and I thought we could just lay in bed for the next few days, since we can both finally relax.”

Yoosung swallows, he’s tense in her arms and he knows he has to talk to her about this now.  After what Saeran had said yesterday and the horrible way he’d felt in her apartment afterwards, while she pretending nothing was wrong.

“What’s wrong baby,” she coos, turning him to face her.

He hugs her, he doesn’t know why, but he wraps his arms around her and holds her tight against him, like he’s trying to commit this version of her to memory.  All softness and sweet words.  Before he makes her angry, before he ruins it.  He takes a few deep breaths. “Jisu, what did you say to Saeran.”

He can feel her tense and push away from him. “Yoosung, I don’t know what he said but I’m really sorry. Saeran isn’t ok right now.”

“You’re _lying_ ,” Yoosung says softly.

She reaches out to touch his face but he steps away. “Yoosung I know he was doing better but, I had to call Saeyoung today, we’re going to talk to V about it, he might have to be hospitalized again.”  She says it so carefully, like she feels bad about it.  He hopes she does.  Hopes somewhere behind whatever is happening to her that she knows she’s wrong.

“ _Jisu_ ,” Yoosung pleads. “I _know_ , you’re lying.”

“Baby, I know you want me to be wrong, but I promise I—”

“I know you talked to Saeyoung,” he says putting the dining table between them, “he told me, uh he told me that you and Saeran were having some kind of personal issue.  A-and Saeran told me that you asked him not to talk to me, but he _only_ told me because I saw him while I was out and _I asked_.”

“Saeyoung’s just being gentle,” she says smiling sadly at him, “you know how much he blames himself for Saeran, I promise you we spoke in depth, Saeran’s delusions are getting bad again and I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You’re _still_ lying!” Yoosung says, his voice shrill to keep from shouting. “D-do you, do you even _know_ you’re lying?”

It’s like a light switch has been flipped, the way her face changes, she almost snarls at him. “Of course I know.”

“Why?”

“You’re so _sweet_ , Yoosung, you forgave him after what he did to you but he’ll do it again, I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“He won’t hurt me Jisu, he’s so much better now, you don’t even notice how much better he is you’re so busy worrying, you need to _talk_ to someone Jisu.”

She shakes her head and looks at him so sadly he almost feels bad, “Yoosung, you’re too kind, someone is going to take advantage of that.”

“It’s not a weakness to be kind Jisu,” he says.

“Maybe not but it stupid to be so nice to someone who tried to blind you.” She hisses

“ _Jisu_ ,” Yoosung growls, “I need you to go _home_ , I don’t know why you’re suddenly so worried about Saeran, now that he’s doing so well.”

“How can you _not_ know?” She spits.

“We used to be so close, even when he was still, _you know_ , we were closer but now—”

“He’s in _love_ with you Yoosung,” she shouts.

There is silence as the words echo inside his head.  Somewhere Yoosung had always known, the way Saeran had spoken while he had drug him into the castle, and the frantic excited way he’d spoken about the _fun_ they could have while he’d dug into his eye with his fingers had all read of infatuation even Yoosung could tell. 

And after everything the easy way he blushed when Yoosung spoke to him, the way he couldn’t meet his eyes sometimes.  Yoosung had always known, but Saeran had never said anything and it had only seemed polite to ignore it when he couldn’t reciprocate. 

“You need to go,” Yoosung says coolly watching her fists open and close at her sides.  He lifts the bags of take out off of the counter and takes them to her holding them out. “I-I can’t do this Jisu, maybe, m-maybe once you talk to someone and figure out what you need to get better—”

“Are you,” her voice is quiet and suddenly everything about her looks small as she reaches for the bags in his hands, “are we breaking up?”

Yoosung chews on his lip but he can’t meet her eyes.   _Were_ they?  He wasn’t sure, he stares at her mouth for the minute the tense way she holds he lips while she waits for him to answer.

“I don’t know,” he says softly, “m-maybe?  I don’t know, you need to talk to V, I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” she says softly and he can see the first tear roll down her cheek.

“I can’t Jisu, after—I can’t,” he whispers.  “Maybe we can try again later but—”

“ _Fine_ ,” her voice is hard again, almost a snarl, “just cry and whine and run away like you always do. Poor little Yoosung can’t deal with real life.  I should have known better than to trust you.”

The door slams behind her and Yoosung feels like all the air has been sucked from him lungs.  She was right, she was always right.  It was hard and uncomfortable and he was running away so he didn’t have to deal with it.

Still, there was more to it, after Rika and V and everything that had happened a year ago how could he just _let_ someone lie to him.  How could she lie about something as _serious_ as Saeran being hospitalized, what if someone _believed_ her. 

*

It’s early for someone to be knocking on his bedroom door.  Too early for someone to be knocking _that_ roughly at least.  Saeran stretches, and groans, _Saeyoung can wait a minute_ , he thinks as he reaches for his phone.  7:17am, he knew his brother was worried but he’d worked last night and would normally have just crashed for the morning.

He swings his legs over the edge of his bed and rubs his eyes before he answers, ready to make a smart ass comment but swallows it when he’s greeted by dull blue eyes behind thick teal frames.  “What,” he mumbles glancing at his bare feet.

“Saeyoung didn’t tell you I was coming did he?” V asks, the frown vanishing from his face as he runs nervous fingers through pale blue hair.

Saeran shrugs, “he said he was going to call you.”

“Sorry,” V smiles sheepishly.  “Come on I’ll buy you breakfast before I drop you off.”

“Well that was fucking fast,” Saeran frowns. V has been away so much dealing with his own recovery that he barely had opportunity to get used to him.  As far as he’d come with his brother and the rest of the RFA he didn’t get much time with V and he still instinctually felt like they were at odds in most situations.  

“I’m sorry?” V doesn’t flinch.  He always used to flinch Saeran considers. 

He supposed there was nothing for the taller man to fear from him these days.  It wasn’t as though there was any risk of Saeran shooting him again, no one _wanting_ him hurt to prove a point.  They were almost equals, if not for Vs position in the RFA, and the fact that on paper V was still considered his guardian.

At least until his therapist cleared him.

“You want me to get evaluated too right?” Saeran shrugs.  “You want to be sure we’re not up to our old tricks right?”

His eyebrows knit together and Saeran can see the ghosts of the scars around his eyes.  “I guess when your brother wakes up that will make sense but no that’s not what I had planned.  Maybe _you_ could catch me up while we get breakfast, I assume you have some things packed.”

“ _What?_ ” Saeran is lost.

“I,” he stops and leans against the door frame, “I’m missing something important I think.”

“I’d fucking say,” Saeran grunts.

“Yoosung is in surgery right now,” he explains, “I was under the impression he’d asked you to be at the hospital with him but they called this morning to let me know he arrived alone.”

Saeran forces himself to look V in the eyes for some hint of a lie. “No, uh, _we_ decided that Jisu would go instead.”

“I thought perhaps that may have happened,” V smiles at him and Saeran finds he’s not a fan of the pity he can see in the other man’s face.

“B-but,” Saeran starts, hating how damned vulnerable he feels, “Jisu _didn’t_ go?”

V shakes his head and for a brief moment there’s something like worry in the pursed way he holds his mouth, “I couldn’t seem to reach her, I suppose it _is_ early.  I hadn’t heard that anything had changed though so I thought I’d offer you a drive.”

“I uh, thanks,” he mumbles. “I’ll get dressed.”

“You should pack a few things,” V suggests fidgeting with his glasses, “he may need you there for the night, it’s usually a couple days before I can really stand the light.”

“Oh, yeah, ok.”

True to his word V takes Saeran to breakfast.  It has a comfortable sort of awkwardness to it, focusing on the person in front of him instead of the broken man who used to fill him with uncontrollable rage.  He finds himself staring at a small grouping of scars on V’s arm when his sleeve slips up a little and he can’t remember anymore if they were from him or someone else.

It strikes him that so much of what happened then is a blur now, lost to the haze of time and recovery.  V clears his throat and tugs at his sleeve and Saeran blushes at having been caught staring.

“Sorry,” V says quietly.  “Does it _bother_ you to see things like that now?”

“Not—no, it’s different,” Saeran answers. 

“On good days it’s like it happened to someone else, right?”

He nods.

“So what’s going on with Yoosung and Jisu?” V asks, as if it’s a natural transition.

“I uh, I’m not sure _exactly_ ,” Saeran shrugs. “She’s been _off_ lately.”

“Off how?” V leans forward, moving his empty cup to the side.

Saeran glances away, “Like before, kind of,” it’s not entirely accurate but he can’t think of a better way to put it, especially with V right in front of him.  V may not have seen exactly how devious Jisu could be in Mint Eye but he had more of an idea than Yoosung or his brother. 

V presses his lips together. “How so?”

“She’s, uh she’s more, I don’t know paranoid?  I’m not sure if she’s fighting with Yoosung, I can see her being, you know, _fake_ nice when I’m around, b-but maybe she’s like that when I’m not there too?”

“Why do you say she’s paranoid?”

“She thinks I’m trying to take Yoosung, she uh, she called me and accused me of some stuff like we were still back there, or like she _thought I_ was?  I don’t know,” he feels like he’s rambling, he’s not used to talking to V like this, not used to having him listen to him so sincerely. “And Saeyoung said she told him I was fucking dangerous?  I uh, I asked her to call you or to find someone to talk to but she—she thinks she’s fine.”

“And you’re sure she’s—”

“If you want me to be evaluated I’ll go,” Saeran cuts him off, speaking more confidently than he feels.  “I can identify my hallucinations now, and I don’t have panic attacks as often, and I haven’t hurt myself in a really long time.”

V holds up a hand to stop him, “I know, your brother was pretty proud of you,” he smiles, “I just wanted to be sure that if this is all happening you didn’t feel—you know it didn’t trigger anything.”

Saeran shakes his head, a month ago he might had snapped at the insinuation but now, it seemed more important that V was really listening to him.

V nods, “Ok, I’ll talk to your brother today, I doubt you’ll need to go through that but I can’t say if Jumin will agree.”

Saeran shrugs.  “I said I didn’t care _, I don’t_.”

*

It was always disorientating coming out of the anesthetic, especially in the dark.  His throat burns and he can’t focus. Sometimes there was a nurse around who could tell the second he woke up but other times he was alone.

Like today.

It felt fitting, after last night.  He’d sat at the table and cried for who-knows how long, and he wonders now if maybe she’d done the same in the hall.   The wet sound of something hitting his door had pulled him out of it and he’d ended up spending the evening cleaning kimchi off his door and the hallway floor hoping none of his neighbors called the landlord.

It had helped in a way, a tangible reason to be angry with her.  Starving from his pre surgery fast and having to smell the wasted food while he scrubbed it from the tacky out of date carpet.  Still now he has to figure out how he gets home.  He could probably call Jumin and ask him to send a car, or maybe Zen since he lived near-by.

 “Are you up?” He can’t place the voice in the dark and the haze of the anesthetic; something tugs at his mind a frantic pitch, and a snarl. “Yoosung do you need something.”

“I-is there water,” Yoosung croaks, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Saeran lets out a small half laugh.  “You _did_ ask me to come, dummy.” 

There’s someone helping him sit, guiding him to drink from a straw, the familiar texture of the plastic hospital tumbler in his hand.  The hand on his shoulder is too soft and warm to be Saeran’s, the nurse must have noticed him or maybe Saeran had called her over.

“I know, but I thought—”

“Heard a rumor you showed up stag,” and Yoosung can imagine the way he’d shrug and look away. _He’s in love with you_ , “so I thought maybe things had changed.”

“Th-thank you,” Yoosung manages.

It’s quiet for a while, as quiet as a recovery room gets, with the nurses bustling about and machines making their noises.  He wonders if Saeran is ok with all the sounds, is he wearing headphones to drown it out.  He remembers the first time Saeran was hospitalized, the way he thrashed and screamed about the noises.  He remembers Seven pulling him out of the room while nurses rushed into restrain his brother. 

He wonders if he made a mistake asking him to come.  He wonders what it means that he did.  He wonders if Saeran is watching him right now or if he’s just playing on his phone.

 _He’s in love with you_.

“We uh,” Yoosung starts, and he can hear Saeran’s chair make some sharp sound of protest, “I think we broke up.”

He wishes it wasn’t so dark, that he could see Saeran’s face.

“You know Yoosung,” Saeran says softly, “she’ll forgive you when she’s feeling better.  I-it’s hard to see straight sometimes, when things are bad, but if _you_ _want_ to I’m sure,” Yoosung can hear him swallow, “I’m sure she’ll have you back.”

 _He’s in love with you_ , “I uh, I’d rather not think about it right now,” Yoosung mumbles.

“So when can I bust you the fuck out of here,” Saeran asks, changing the subject.

Yoosung explains the routine to Saeran.  The grogginess wears off and they talk more freely, the time passes quickly.  Soon he’s wearing dark sun glasses and holding onto Saeran’s sleeve as he follows him onto a bus.  They sit quietly for a little while before he feels Saeran shift in the seat and clear his throat.

“So uh, was it because of me?” He asks softly and Yoosung can hear the guilt in his voice, he wishes his face was more than a blur, that he could see the subtleties of his expression when he asks.  Is he worried about Jisu, or is he worried about him?

 _He’s in love with you_. “Not—I don’t—it was a lot of things.  She just, she kept _lying_ , and she’s so _angry_ lately, I don’t know maybe I should have tried harder.”

“She’s not as _good_ as she thinks she fucking is,” Saeran says, bitter but not unkind.  “She, she wants to be the strong one, if you love her she’ll come around.”

He can’t answer.  He wants to thank him.  Tell Saeran he doesn’t need to play mediator right now.  Tell him that after the terrible things she’d said last night, the way she’d lied and tried to make him the bad guy he _shouldn’t_ be this nice to her. 

He doesn’t want to think about it.  About if he really loves her, if she really loves him, if things could go back to the way they were, if he even wants them to.

_He’s in love with you._

Saeran helps him to his apartment. Up the stairs, Yoosung tries to help him with the bag he knows he has, but Saeran stubbornly refuses to let him.  He’s more confident as they get to the top of the stairs, refusing to let Saeran take his keys from him as he goes for the door.

Everything here is muscle memory, he listens to Saeran softly laughing as he drops his keys on the counter just outside the little cat bowl he keeps them in.  He moves around his apartment with little incident, bumping into a chair and trying to pick up things that are just a little to the right of where he thought they were.

“So what’s up with the smell in your hall?”

“Oh, uh, does it still smell?” Yoosung asks, trying not to sound nervous, “I dropped some take out last night.”

“You mean she did,” Saeran says and Yoosung thinks if he could see better maybe he’d be smirking, “it’s ok.”

“You must have watched her a lot huh?” Yoosung says absently.

“Hmm,” Saeran muses but there’s a hint of trepidation to the thoughtful hum.

“Just I mean, you’ve always seemed to know a lot about her, that’s all,” he adds.

“Oh, uh I guess. We uh, we were pretty thorough,” he says quietly.

“Sorry.”

“It’s whatever, Yoosung.” The blurr of motion is probably a dismissive gesture.  “What do you normally do?”

“Oh,” Yoosung says, he hadn’t thought about that.  He had assumed Saeran would bring him home and the three of them would hang out like normal.  He hadn’t really planned for it to just be him and Saeran.  “Jisu reads to me sometimes, or we listen to podcasts or just talk.” _He’s in love with you_. “I guess I didn’t think this far ahead.”

“It’s ok,” Saeran’s voice is _so_ soft when he speaks and Yoosung can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks.  “You uh, you look tired, do you want to lay down or, uh I could make you something to eat if you want.”

“You cook?”  He didn’t know that, he’d been friends with Saeran for a year and they’d always ordered take out, or Yoosung had cooked.  He’d always just assumed—

“Yeah,” Saeran says, his voice still soft, had it always been so soft? “I mean I had to learn, have you seen the shit my brother eats?”

Yoosung laughs but the motion of it causes him to stumble, lose his balance, Saeran’s fingers are on his his elbow, his hand on his waist, Saeran’s arms holding him up.  _He’s in love with you_.

“Whoa, Yoosung, are you ok?”

“I, yeah, sorry the anesthetic, I’m still uh, still a little fuzzy. I’m going to lay down.”

Saeran helps Yoosung to his room, despite his protests.  The curtains are heavy and drawn in anticipation but Saeran pulls them tighter, fusses over his pillows and takes his sunglasses from him.  He listens to Yoosung talk absently, the loose way he speaks on whatever pain killers he was given in the hospital and he can’t help the small smile on his face.

He listens to Yoosung insist that there’s nothing for Saeran to do right now but he remembers the crumpled form that Yoosung had absently held in his hand the whole way here.  It’s sitting on the counter with his keys and Saeran carefully reads it.

He finds the prescription bottles in Yoosung’s bag, and pours him a glass of water.  Yoosung is already fast asleep when he sets the little bottles with the glass next to his bed.  He watches his friend for a moment, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest while he sleeps.  His eyes linger on the little strip of exposed belly beneath his sweater before he forces himself to look away.

He was going to make them something to eat. 

Yoosung doesn’t have much in his fridge but there’s enough, Saeran cobbles out a passable soup from leftovers and the little bit of fresh vegetables that hadn’t already gone bad.  He knows how the pain killers and anesthetic can make your stomach churn so he avoids his natural inclination to make things spicy, just in case.

He leaves the noodles strained in their pot and covers everything before he goes to check on Yoosung. 

He’s still asleep, maybe, it’s hard to see when he cracks the door, the room is so dark in contrast to the midday sun shining in through the windows in the kitchen.  Saeran steps quietly into the room and palms the door shut, shuffling forward slowly with his hands out while he waits for his eyes to adjust.

Fingers clumsily wrap around his sleeve. “C-can you sit with me?”

“Yoosung?” Saeran isn’t sure he’s even awake, curled on his side with his chin tucked into his chest on top of the covers only his arms reaching out indicates any awareness, the fingers tightening on his sleeve.

“Please?”

Saeran sighs.  He doesn’t know, he’s still asleep, still groggy from the hospital.  He covers Yoosung’s hand with his own and pries the fingers away. “I’ll be right back,” he says softly, his mouth suddenly dry.

He collects his phone from where he’d left it on the counter and gets his own water before he goes back.  Yoosung has rolled over, shuffled to the other side of his twin bed.  As if _that_ would make a difference somehow, but as soon as Saeran settles onto the bed he turns again.  His head rests against Saeran’s side, his arm thrown over Saeran’s waist.

“It’s ok you know,” he mumbles into Saeran’s sweater.

“Hmm,” Saeran hums absently fumbling with his phone. 

“It’s ok,” Yoosung mumbles again.

Saeran’s hand finds it’s way to Yoosung’s hair, he tells himself it’s just convenient, the way Yoosung is pressed against him it’s simply the most comfortable way to sit.  He finds the book he’d been reading on his phone, relaxing into the comfortable patterns of dollar bin romance novels.

“I don’t mind,” Yoosung mumbles, his fingers tighten on the fabric at Saeran’s hip.

“Hmm,” he hums again, liking the sleepy sound of Yoosung’s sleep talking.  His fingers comb through Yoosung’s hair and he let’s himself indulge, just for the moment, imagining the way it might feel to be Yoosung’s boyfriend.

“I know,” Yoosung sighs, a soft sweet sound as he nuzzles his face deeper into Saeran’s side.

Saeran smirks, “ _What_ do you know, cutie,” he chuckles, embolden by the knowledge that Yoosung is asleep and won’t remember a thing.

“I know that you love me.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Yoosung wakes up slow, like swimming against the current. He’s acutely aware of the pain behind his eye, the slight chill to his exposed back and the smell of something comforting. He’s starving, the hours of fasting before his surgery and falling asleep almost as soon as he’d gotten home combined with whatever he can smell leave him feeling hollow and empty in his belly.

He stretches and a thought hits him suddenly, he’d asked Saeran to lay with him. He doesn’t remember what he said, doesn’t remember anything really. It’s just the impression of memory, vague like a chalk rubbing. He wonders if his friend had done it; laid beside him in his small bed while he slept.

He feels guilty. He shouldn’t have asked. There was something lonely about laying alone after a year of having her next to him. He wishes he could remember _had_ Saeran sat next to him? Had he been comfortable or had he been tense and awkward.

Yoosung can feel the ghost of fingers in his hair as he stretches and yawns and rolls on his side to find his phone. The blur to his vision clearing already, sooner with each surgery he finds, as he glances around the dark room trying to find his bearings. He wonders what time it is, if Saeran is awake in the other room or had he fallen asleep.

He did that sometimes when Yoosung was studying, and once when he’d excused himself to change and ended up pinned to the door by Jisu pressing rushed kisses down his chest. He shakes his head and tugs at his hair a little.

Yoosung reaches for the edge of the bed, his fingers tangling in something soft as he drags himself closer to the edge, a muffled yelp causes him to jump and pull his hand back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t—”

“It’s fine Yoosung,” Saeran says with a yawn. A dim light reflects in his bright green eyes but he quickly snuffs it out.

“Were you sleeping on the floor?” Yoosung asks with a tilt of his head.

“N-no,” Saeran stammers, “you asked me to stay but I got bored, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

There’s a hint of a lie in Saeran’s voice.

“I’m sorry, was it weird, I did—” Yoosung’s stomach interrupts whatever excuse he’d planned to make and Saeran laughs.

Had Yoosung ever noticed the way Saeran laughed before, had it ever sounded so perfect?

“Are you hungry?” Saeran asks and Yoosung can picture his smirk.

He nods and laughs. “Starving, did you order in? Something smells good.”

“I did say I was going to cook, your dumb ass just fell asleep before I finished,” Saeran snorts, whatever he was hiding forgotten.

“Oh.”

“How much light can you have on?” Saeran asks. “If I turn a lamp on in the other room will it be too much?”

“Can I see your phone?” Yoosung asks and Saeran holds it out. He closes his bad eye and opens the flashlight on Saeran’s phone so he can search the table for his own phone. It’s not there but he can see his sunglasses, two water glasses and his prescriptions. “Did you do that?”

Saeran nods.

“I usually put my desk lamp under my desk, it’s usually bearable like that.” Saeran stands up and starts towards the door, “w-wait do you want your phone?”

“Are you still using the light?”

Yoosung nods.

“It’s fine,” he smiles as he slips out of the bedroom.

Yoosung puts his sunglasses on and opens his other eye, he takes his pills knowing the dosage by heart now and pushes himself to stand. His knees buckle and it takes him a minute to get his feet under him. He hugs the wall to leave the room, weak in the way only late naps and empty stomachs can make you.

The lamp is already under the desk and Saeran is standing at the stove when he comes around the corner, walking without the aid of the wall. He holds out Saeran’s phone as he slowly makes his way towards the small kitchen. His hand out to compensate for his depth perception.

“That smells really good Saeran,” Yoosung says over another growl of his stomach.

Saeran ducks his head and smiles. He watches Yoosung in the dark reflection of his stove waiting for the broth to simmer. Yoosung frowns, changing from sunglasses to his bright red frames and squinting at his phone. He drops it on the table and sighs and Saeran turns at the sound.

“Can you dim my screen so I can see who called?” Yoosung asks, almost whining.

Saeran smirks, and slides the phone towards himself, does what Yoosung asks, and slides it back turning to catch the pot before it boils over. He listens to Yoosung’s small sounds of displeasure as he looks for bowls in his cupboards.

Saeran smiles as his hands settle on Yoosung’s favourite, shaped like a whale he’d been so excited the day it arrived in the mail. He loved the easy way that Yoosung smiled. The easy way a children’s bowl could make his day.

He portions out the cooked noodles between the whale and plane white soup bowl, pouring the hot soup on top while he listens to Yoosung groan and cluck his tongue.

“Miss something important Sleeping Beauty?” Saeran teases setting the whale in front of Yoosung and taking a seat across from him.

He shakes his head, “You’re brother and V, there were a couple calls from Jisu but—”

“Are you ok?” Saeran asks.

Yoosung shrugs. “I think so, is that weird?”

“I don’t know,” Saeran considers with a tilt of his head, “I’ve never loved anyone.”

“Liar,” Yoosung says before clapping a hand over his mouth.

Saeran blushes and ducks his head, busying his mouth with his soup.

“I just mean,” Yoosung tries, “you know, just because you’ve never had a girlfriend or whatever doesn’t mean— _you know_.”

“Yeah, ok,” Saeran mumbles.

There’s an awkward silence, the two of them making a point of being very interested in the soup that Saeran has made before Yoosung finally speaks again. “What if,” he runs a shaky hand through his hair, “what if I never loved her?”

Sharp eyes search his face, “what do you mean?”

Yoosung sighs. “I mean I liked her, I _do_ like her, but maybe it was just that she liked me so much?”

Saeran is thoughtful as he finishes his soup and pushes the bowl away.

“What if she, what if this is because I didn’t love her and she could tell?” He whispers.

“Do you really think,” Saeran stops and looks away, “you really think you’re what caused this?”

Yoosung shrugs.

Saeran sighs, he wants to tell Yoosung it’s not his fault, that this was inevitable, that he’d tried so hard to get V and Jumin and Saeyoung to just _listen_ to him. But he can’t. He can’t tell Yoosung that this is just who Jisu is, that she was trying to be better, trying to tell herself that she was stronger that she could do what Saeran couldn’t.

He can’t tell Yoosung that his beloved Cousin had taken them both, raised them like oil and water in a Petri dish and set them loose on the world, set them loose on the RFA. He can’t tell Yoosung that he’s absolutely certain Jisu is asking herself the same thing right now. Did _she_ really love him.

He can’t tell Yoosung that he _knows_ , _he_ knows that Jisu has to face what was done to her and what she did and all the ways that Yoosung intertwines with those things. He can’t tell Yoosung that sometimes the things that made you want to live can eventually make you want to die.

“When did she get _so mean?”_ Yoosung whispers, pushing the bowl away. “I tried _so_ hard.”

“It’s not about you,” Saeran says, his voice is quiet, some how far away, “I don’t know what happened between you and there’s no excuse for it. The things I’ve done are wrong no matter what it says in my records and she’ll have to deal with her shit too.” His voice is almost desperate as he finishes, “But it’s not _your_ fault.”

There are tears in Yoosungs eyes when Saeran looks at him. “What will happen to her?”

Saeran shrugs. “V’s here, we all want to help her but I don’t know. It’s not up to us what happens to her. She has to want the help Yoosung.”

“Did you want to get better.”

“Heh,” Saeran snorts and runs his hands over his face, caught repeating the same bullshit lines he'd heard over and over again.

“I’m sorry,” Yoosung says quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine Yoosung just, _shit_ , you caught me off guard.” Saeran offers a smile before he continues. “I didn’t at first, I thought everything about me was wrong and I just wanted them to let me die, I wanted you all to let me die.”

“What changed?”

 _You_ , he wants to say. _You and Saeyoung and Jisu and wanting to be better than I was._ “I tried,” he says and Yoosung nods eyes wide remembering being with Saeyoung the day he’d gotten the call. “But you assholes wouldn’t let me die so I had to give that dream the fuck up.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Yoosung frowns.

“Ok fine, it was scary ok?” He shrugs and blushes and looks away. “It just seemed so easy until it was happening and then it was fucking terrifying and then my brother was there and he was shouting and everyone was crying? And I felt stupid. I felt fucking stupid.” He presses his palms to his eyes and wonders where exactly he left his things.

Yoosung grabs his hand as he starts to walk past, “But you wanted to get better after that right?” He asks in that quiet hopeful way he has. Lavender eyes wet, one bloodshot, earnestly waiting for him to respond.

“No,” Saeran shakes his head sadly. “I was still too fucked up then but I wanted to want to.”

Yoosung squeezes Saeran’s hand for a moment, and on some whim he can’t explain Saeran drops to his knees and presses his forehead to Yoosung’s. He searches Yoosung’s eyes and watches the way the blond boy sucks in his bottom lip.

He doesn’t pull away, waiting to see what Saeran will do. Yoosung can’t decide what he wants to happen, what he thinks _Saeran wants_ to happen, and for a split second he thinks, if Saeran were to kiss him right now he wouldn’t stop it, wouldn’t pull away.

But Saeran does pull away, walking towards the door and for a minute Yoosung almost calls out to stop him but then he turns and reaches into the shadows. He takes a slow breath and watches Saeran walk to the sink and take a pill before he collects their discarded dishes.

“What do you want to do now?” He asks washing the few dishes he’s dirtied.

“Is it _weird_ if I ask you to sit with me again?” Yoosung asks quietly and Saeran doesn’t look at him.

“I don’t fucking know.”

“I just, the light is still kind of bright and my head kind of hurts but being alone is _weird_ now.”

Saeran shrugs and when he finally turns around there’s a hint of pink in his cheeks but he waits until Yoosung stands and follows him to his room. Yoosung stops and digs around his closet, stuffed full of boxes, until he makes a satisfied sound and throws a blanket at Saeran.

“You can watch a movie or whatever,” Yoosung says climbing across his bed until there’s room for Saeran, pulling the blankets along with him. “I’ll close my eyes and listen to it,” he smiles before Saeran can object.

Saeran makes Yoosung pick something to listen to, he’ll put on something scary if he doesn’t, he threatens. They settle in, Yoosung rolling onto his side and closing his eyes to rest his head while he listens to the show start up.

“You’re roots are showing,” Saeran says suddenly.

“I know,” Yoosung grumbles half heartedly. Something about knowing Saeran was watching him makes it harder to be grumpy. His fingers find his lip and he wonders what it would be like to kiss Saeran, would it be inherently different to kiss a man? “I uh I have the stuff, I just haven’t had time with finals and everything.”

Saeran doesn’t say anything and Yoosung is struck by the memory of Saeran’s hand in his hair, he tries to place it but can’t.

“Do you want me to help you do it tomorrow?” Saeran asks through a yawn.

“Mmhmm,” he nods eagerly.

Saeran falls asleep before Yoosung, his phone still propped in his hand with some silly drama that Yoosung suggested playing. When Yoosung makes a comment and is met with silence. He tries a few times, just to be sure before he locks Saeran’s phone and reaches over him to set it on the bed side table, behind his pills and the water glasses.

The door to his room is barely open, but the lamp is still on in the other room and _just_ enough light comes through that Yoosung can make out the shape of Saeran sleeping next to him and he can’t help but wonder. It’s too soon, he thinks, too soon to really know.

It had never really been just the two of them, there was Yoosung and Jisu, and then Saeran in the shadows. Saeran tagging along, always invited always wanted there. He wonders if there was something to the way he had always been so eager to include Saeran. Something more to how fast and easy it had been to call him his best friend.

Yoosung falls asleep wondering if he hadn’t been so eager to be loved, if he had have waited would he really be so conflicted right now.

The room is black when Saeran wakes up, he doesn’t remember falling asleep and it takes him a minute to remember where he is. Yoosung is wrapped around his middle, a tangle of arms and blankets and he lets himself lay there for a minute, pretending this is real. Just a lazy morning in bed with his boyfriend.

His hand hovers over Yoosungs hair but he thinks better of it, and instead gently untangles himself from the other boy and starts to looks for his phone. Yoosung doesn’t flinch as he’s moved, he makes a small noise of protest but nothing more.

Saeran shuffles, sleepy, to the other room and takes his pills. What had happened last night? Had he almost kissed Yoosung? Had Yoosung almost seemed to want him to? It didn’t matter, he’d only been alone one day. That was the only thing that had stopped him. If Yoosung had let himself be kissed how could Saeran trust that he really meant it. That he wasn’t just clinging to the closest warm body.

Saeran had never had a boyfriend, never had a _lover_ even, just toys, just things that were people when they weren’t with him. He didn’t want to ruin that by rushing to lay claim to Yoosung the moment he was free. He didn’t want Jisu to think she was right.

He stares into Yoosung’s fridge and thanks whatever gods might exist for the energy drinks he finds in the back. A knock at the door startles him out of his quiet contemplation of the cans in the fridge, his favourite kind. He snatches one from the shelf and cracks it open to see if whoever it is will knock again. It’s not _his_ home after all, should he answer the door at all. Another barrage against the door and he starts to wonder, is this a neighbour?

Who else could get in the building without first ringing the buzzer? Unless Yoosung was awake, but if he was wouldn’t he have come out, or said something?

Could it be Jisu, she’d probably have a key but she’d also have a key to the door. V might be the type to knock with a key in his hand though.

“Saeran open the stupid door,” his brother calls out.

He groans, chugs the energy drink in his hand and grabs a second before letting his brother in.

“Took you long enough,” Saeyoung pouts ruffling his hair.

“It’s not my house,” he grumbles, ‘I didn’t know if I should.”

“How’s our boy?” His brother smiles, “has Jisu been by?”

Saeran freezes. “No,” he says, his eyes dart about the room nervously, “sh-should I expect her?”

“I mean probably, her boyfriend just had surgery,” Saeyoung chuckles. “Get a little too comfortable playing house, lover boy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Saeran snaps.

“Dang, sorry Saeran.”

“No,” he sighs, “they broke up.”

His brother freezes. “They what,  _when_ ?”

“I don’t fucking know, he told me yesterday,” Saeran runs his hands through his hair, “I didn’t ask for details.”

He watches his brother, the way his face changes while he ponders this new information. He always looks like he’s in the middle of an animated conversation. Finally after a multitude of expressions and gestures, Saeyoung speaks. “Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“Is Yoosung awake? How is our little man doing?”

Saeran rolls his eyes. “He was out cold when I got up, I think he’s fine.”

His brother raises his eyebrows, “With everything?”

“He’s uh, he’s worried about her, but he—his surgery was OK I guess.”

“Cool, cool, c-cool, cool-cool,” his brother chirps.

“What the fuck Saeyoung?”

“V’s going to _talk_ to her today, but she wasn’t answering yesterday. I thought, I _assumed_ she’d be here and her phone was just off.” His brother sighs.

“She’s at her place,” Saeran shrugs.

“You’re sure?” Saeyoung frowns. “Is there anything we should know?”

He shrugs again. “She’ll probably be alone but he might not be, depends what she thinks Yoosung is doing. She might be aggressive but she’s not—I don’t fucking know.” He glances nervously towards the hall. “Neither of you are me so you’re probably fucking fine.”

“Ok,” he smiles. That guarded smile he has when he’s worried. “I uh I was going to hang out but I should probably find V. Maybe we should see if Jumin can help.” Saeran rolls his shoulders, there’s no rhyme or reason to the way she might react but he was confident that if he was not involved it would be easier for everyone. 

Sitting at the table he cant help but think of her the day they’d met. 13 years old in the back of Rika’s car. Before she was Saviour, before there was Mint Eye. He remembers the timid little girl who’d held his hand while they walked to school and hid in his bed from thunder storms. He remembers telling her about his brother and how sad she’d looked when she told him she had no one at all.

He’d been strong then. In those few months where he’d gotten to go to school, got to be the strong older brother, and feel safe for the first, only, time in his life.

It had been an illusion, it was always a fucking game with Saviour. He wonders now if Jisu was already indoctrinated. If she’d been Saviour's little Peach from the moment she’d reached for his hand in the back seat of that car.

“Why did he ask you about Jisu?” Yoosung yawns. His hair is pinned out of his face, the way he used to do when it was longer and he’s frowning behind his sunglasses.

“Because she might be having a manic episode,” he lies, but it’s a plausible lie, “so I kinda know about that shit you know?”

Yoosung covers his mouth and yawns again when he nods.

He hates lying to Yoosung but he’d agreed with his brother. Yoosung deserved to remember the person he thought his cousin was. He deserved to think of Rika of Mint Eye’s victim rather than the mastermind. Saeran can only imagine how the truth about Rika would affect him. 

So much of his choice had been to honour her, and Saeran had to admit when Yoosung spoke of the person he remembered he enjoyed it. He liked the thought that she’d been good once. That she’d been kind. He likes the thought that someone is doing  _good_ things in her memory. He likes that the  _real_ her, the woman he’d known as Saviour, would be livid. She’d had no respect for selflessness.

“Are you OK?” Yoosung asks, sitting across from him with a bowl of neon coloured cereal.

Saeran shrugs.

“I hope I didn’t upset you last night.” He says through a mouthful.

“Hmm, how?”

“W-with all my questions, I’m sorry I was trying to understand but I probably crossed a line,’ he shakes his head.

“It’s OK Yoosung. I wouldn’t have talked about it if it did.”

“But y-you had to take a pill because of me right?”

“I take pills every day,” he points out, “sometimes I have to take an extra one, it’s not a big deal.”

“Did you know that Jisu takes medication too?” Yoosung asks, failing his attempt to sound casual.

“I did,” he nods, “but how do you know? Did she tell you?”

Yoosung shakes his head. “Saeyoung did, he thought I knew.”

“Don’t take it personally,” he forces himself to say. “She didn’t want you to worry about her, she doesn’t like feeling weak, and people knowing she has to take those makes her feel weak.”

“You know so much about her,” Yoosung sighs, “why?”

Saeran shakes his head. “Surveillance remember? Besides I bet I know things about  _you_ that she doesn’t know. I bet Saeyoung knows things neither of us do.”

“I guess, I just with she would have trusted me more.”

Heavy silence falls over them and Saeran watches Yoosung weigh each thought that crosses his mind. Never voicing them. He wonders what he wants to ask. He wonders what’s stopping him.

“Am I a bad person,” he asks suddenly.

“I don’t think I’m the right person to ask Yoosung.”

“I-I think you’re the perfect person to ask,” he stammers.

“Why do you think you’re bad, Yoosung?” Saeran asks, avoiding the question and thinking of his therapist.

He looks down and then gets up. Saeran watches him gather the dishes and put them in the sink, He watches him chew the inside of his cheek while he runs water and wash the couple things in his sink. If not for the sunglasses Saeran imagines he’d be watching the tears forming in his eyes when he turned back around.

“For running away,” he says softly,” when things got hard. I always do that. When Rika died, when school got hard, and now—”

“It’s a valid survival mechanism,” Saeran counters. “Maybe you do run, Saeyoung does too. It doesn’t make you a bad person to save yourself.”

Yoosung’s mouth sets in a frown. He can see that’s not the answer he wanted. He wanted Saeran to tell him he was bad, or weak, that he needed to toughen up. But Saeran can’t do that, not just because he doesn’t want Yoosung to cry but because he genuinely covets Yoosung’s ability to move quickly past most things that hurt him.

“Yeah, it sounded like bullshit when my therapist said it to me too.” He says instead.

Yoosung laughs and the sound fills Saeran’s head like flowers blooming. He likes that he can make Yoosung laugh no matter what is happening. That Yoosung always laughs for him, almost on cue. He’d been paranoid at first. Yoosung laughed so easily for him, at bad jokes, at vulgar ones, at jokes that made his brother choke and leave the room. He’d thought so much of what Yoosung did was a lie then. Something Saeyoung or Jisu had told him to do. Humor the maniac so he doesn’t hurt you again. There was so much more to Yoosung than anyone else knew, than anyone else saw.

“So what do you do?” Yoosung asks. “Do you run too?”

Saeran snorts. “No, I don’t run, I don’t have a survival mechanism, I don’t know how to save myself.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Yoosung frowns. “You’re still here.”

“Barely,’ Saeran shrugs. “I’ve never had a sense of self preservation. There was always someone to do that for me, until Saeyoung fucking left. Then there was Mint Eye and my life for--Now there’s _whatever the fuck this is_.”

There’s something cold in Yoosung’s voice when he speaks. “You just keep going though, until you find something to live for right? Even if it’s stupid or-or childish, you just do it.”

“Are you ok Yoosung?”

He nods, “I just, you look like you’re doing better, it’s sad that you feel that way.”

Saeran can hear the lie in his voice. He knows Yoosung is talking about himself when he started his slow-fall into depression.

“It’s better than what I was before,” he tries. There are enough secrets between them. “I don’t want to die and even if I don’t know how to save myself there are people now who care enough to try for me.”

“Like me,” Yoosung adds, his mood immediately brighter at the insinuation.

The conversation turns to lighter topics and before long Yoosung is apologising and excusing himself to his dark bedroom to rest his eyes. Saeran busies himself taking stock of Yoosung’s bare refrigerator and cupboards. He texts his brother a small shopping list.

He’s settled in on Yoosung’s little sofa with some stupid ghost hunting show when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out expecting some message teasing him about domestication but instead it’s from Yoosung.

[Yoosung Kim]: Do you still want to do my hair today?  
[Yoosung Kim]: You don’t have to.  
[Yoosung Kim]: We could do yours too!  
[Yoosung Kim]: If you want I mean

Saeran runs his fingers through his hair. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with my fucking hair,” he yells.

He can hear Yoosung yelp. “N-no!” He calls back. “I like your hair, it was just a th-thought.”

Saeran smiles to himself. He’d thought about colouring it again a few times but he’d always worried about how his brother would react. Usually the realization that he was concerned about upsetting Saeyoung was enough to distract him from actually doing it.

“It’s kind of long,” he says when Yoosung comes around the corner, “ I don’t want to use all your stuff.”

Yoosung smiles. “I have  _a lot_ and you’re hair is pretty light already. How did you get your hair so white before?”

He likes when Yoosung’s thoughts all run together but he doesn’t want to tell him he doesn’t know. That Jisu or someone had always bought the colour for him.

“ _You_ did your hair right?’

Saeran shrugs

“Oh, ok, it’s fine, I did mine for like two years I’ll talk you through it and then I can do yours if you want?”

He did. He missed his white hair, maybe he’d do something different with the ends this time, maybe purple. He nods. ‘If Saeyoung gets pissed off I’m blaming you though.”

Yoosung laughs nervously and nods. He tells Saeran where to find his things and Saeran follows his directions, expecting to find the boxes of grocery store colour Jisu had always brought him. Instead he finds a literal tub of lightening powder, bottles of developer with different numbers on them and tubes of colour.

“Uh Yoosung,” he calls, suddenly overwhelmed. “What do I get again?”

Yoosung rattles off numbers and brands, bowls and gloves and powder, and brushes. Saeran grabs them as he calls them out. Eyes wide at the collection of things on the shelf.

“Jesus Christ Yoosung,” he pants with complete sincerity letting the bottles and tubes he’s hugged to his chest fall onto the table between them.

“My sister is a hair stylist,” he blushes, “ she gives me this stuff for holidays.”

“That’s really fucking cool actually,” Saeran smiles.

Yoosung shrugs. “She said if I’m going to do it myself then she’d make sure she could fix it when I f-fuck up.”

Saeran giggles. “You look so uncomfortable when you swear.”

“Some of us had to learn manners,” Yoosung laughs. He tries to shove Saeran but he misses.

Saeran laughs harder. “You’ve found the silver lining,” he cackles, “I can’t wait to tell Dr. Rhee;  _Maybe Mom was a piece of shit but at least I can comfortably say fuck_ .”

He watches Yoosung cover his mouth and hold his breath trying not to laugh. He watches his face go red and he knows behind the sunglasses tears are forcing themselves through squeezed shut eyes. “That’s not funny,” he manages through his failed attempt at composure.

“It’s funny enough,” Saeran chuckles.

Yoosung starts to stand each thing Saeran had collected upright on the table. “Why do you joke about awful things like that?”

“Why do you laugh when I joke like that?” Saeran challenges him.

Yoosung doesn’t answer him, instead he starts instructing Saeran on how to mix the bleach for his hair. As Saeran is measuring powder into the bowl he can  _feel_ Yoosung take a photo but when he glances up Yoosung is texting and trying to look innocent. 

When the bleach has been mixed Yoosung gets up and goes towards the bathroom. He waits, bowl in hand for his friend to come back. They both blush when Yoosung emerges from the hallway without a shirt, a bleach ruined towel over his shoulder. Saeran keeps his eyes carefully trained on Yoosung’s face as he makes his way back to the kitchen table. He’d always made a point not to gawk at Yoosung, even at the beach, it had seemed wrong.

He worried that he wouldn’t be able to look without wanting. At first it had been the final death throws of obsession that had kept him looking elsewhere. Then the narrowed frowning eyes of Jisu that warned him to back off. Could he look now? Would he be able to look at Yoosung without being lecherous? He had no issues with Zen when they’d attempted to workout together. He ponders his reluctance. 

_Because you were obsessed with him you fucking idiot_ , he chides himself.

He listens to Yoosung explain how to apply the bleach to his hair, his eyes drifting to soft lips and letting himself glance down at the pink blush spreading across Yoosung’s shoulders. Liking Yoosung while he’d been with Jisu had been easy. He could tell himself it was genuine and not have to consider whether or not he was still infatuated. But now? There’s no buffer.

He’d almost kissed Yoosung last night and Yoosuung had seemed like he might have even wanted him to. Yoosung being single was different and the insinuations of their almost kiss weigh on his mind. The freedom to pursue him would force Saeran to trust his own feelings. Force him to trust someone else's feelings. He makes a note to mention it to Dr. Rhee.

He listens to Yoosung’s phone sing and Yoosung’s excited chirp. By the time he finishes the sun is on the other side of the building. Yoosung sets the timer on his phone and closes the light curtains over the windows. He watches him disappear and come back with another towel and his glasses.

“Your turn,” he smiles. “I sent Yuna a picture of your hair and she told me what to do. I mean if you still want to.”

He swallows and nods. Yoosung smiles too. Saeran likes him wearing his glasses, likes seeing his eyes. Yoosung takes his time mixing the pwders and creams together and he teases him when he pulls out the blue gloves but it’s all he can do not to melt when Yoosung starts to comb and seperate his hair to apply the bleach.

Yoosung watches Saeran clutching the towel around his shouders. He had regretted taking his own shirt off the moment he walked out, it had been habit from doing his hair alone for so long and then with Jisu. He wonders if Saeran could tell how much he’d liked his fingers in his hair. He wonders if Saeran knows that he’s perfectly capable of doing his own hair. That he only asked so he could feel Saeran’s hands in his hair again.

He almost misses the soft purr that Saeran fails to stifle. Almost thinks he imagined it if not for the tips of his ears turning pink.

Yoosung smiles to himself but it’s followed by a frown. He wasn’t so obtuse that he could deny that he’d always felt a sort of attraction to Saeran. He’d even told Jisu once when he’d had to much to drink that he thought Saeran was cute. Jisu had even gently teased him about it at first. The teasing had turned mean in the last few months. Had she simply seen something he hadn’t?

Yoosung didn’t think so. He hadn’t even considered Saeran as more than attractive until yesterday. Until he’d pressed their foreheads together and his lips had been close enough to taste. Even when Jisu teased. Even when she went too far he hadn’t considered it. But now he can’t think of anything else.

When Saeran’s hair is covered Yoosung switches back to his sunglasses. The timer on his phone is nearing zero and he can feel the tingling of the bleach on his scalp. He gathers one of the cheap plastic shower caps from the closet and snaps it over Saeran’s head before excusing himself to rinse his hair. Setting a timer for Saeran on his own phone.

Saeran takes a shaky breath when Yoosung disappears down the hall. He had to get control of himself. Did Dr. Rhee have a pill for infatuation? He could hear his brother and V, telling him to give Yoosung space to process how he feels about Jisu. He could hear Cheong and Rhee asking him to write out how he feels about Yoosung now versus then. He could hear Jisu telling him he lost, that Yoosung didn’t like him that way.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he makes a note to think about this more.

_Good idea_ , he thinks pulling his phone from his jeans,  _just obsess over your obsession, that’s fucking healthy_ .

[707]: Sorry sorry sorry  
[707]: Sorry, I’m at the store now.  
[707]: Is widdle yoosungie having a nappy nap?  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: Shower  
[707]: kk )))))))

That was suspicious, his brother wanted to talk to him alone.

Yoosung comes out of the hall with a few more bottles ruffling his wet hair. “Almost your turn,” he smiles.

“I uh,” Saeran frowns, realizing he’s going to have to rinse his hair. “I’ve never showered here before,” he says softly.

“Do you need shampoo? It’s fine I don’t mind.’ Yoosung smiles.

“No,” Saeran doesn’t know if his face is pale or red. He hates being fucked up, he hates the stupid things that fuck him up, he hates having to admit to them. “I can’t use strange showers.”

“I’ll show you, it’s just li—” Yoosung stops, realizing what he means. “Oh, that's ok. I can help you rinse in the sink. It’s fine.”

He nods. Yoosung was the only person in the RFA who never made a fuss. Never made a face. Sometimes he was slow to catch on but he would carrying on as if whatever Saeran had said was completely normal. As if he hadn’t just listen another of his fun and frustrating triggers.

Yoosung is rinsing his hair in the sink when Saeyoung stomps through the door.

“Oh goodness,” his brother chuckles. ‘Did baby bro get cookies in his hair? Such a good babysitter you are Mr. Kim.”

Saeran snatches the towel from Yoosung as soon as the water is turned off and squeezes the water from his hair.

“Are you coming home tonight?” Saeyoung asks with a hint of something more in the question. “The bunker is unbearably loud with you gone.”

“I uh, I was hoping he’d stay one more night?” Yoosung says. “Unless you need to go, I understand if you do.”

Saeran drapes the towel over the back of one of Yoosung’s kitchen chairs and starts to inspect the grocery bags his brother had dropped on the table.

“You didn’t say you were going to do that,” Saeyoung says quietly.

“It was my idea,” Yoosung pipes up, “if he’s in trouble? I suggested it.”

Saeran watches, Saeyoung barely glances at Yoosung.

“Rhee said it was ok when he said the contacts were ok,” Saeran adds knowing exactly what his brother wants to hear.

In truth Rhee had seemed more keen on him continuing to wear glasses and colouring his hair than he’d been with Saeran wearing his mint green contacts again. White hair had been an act of disobedience even in Mint Eye. Savior had wanted her agents to blend in and he had chosen to stand out.

“It’s a little yellow,” Saeyoung teases, satisfied.

“We’re not done yet,” Yoosung says, almost defensively.

“Did you uh,” Saeyoung starts, making meaningful eye contact with him, “want your guitar. I brought it in case you did but I left it in the car.”

Saeran nods. “I’ll go get it.” He follows his brother outside of the apartment.

“I wish you would have warned me,” he groans reaching out to touch his brother’s hair.

“What’s wrong Saeyoung? What don’t you want Yoosung to know?”

“Here’s the deal,” his brother says leading him to the car. “No one can get in contact with Jisu and I know she’s not here. Honestly if Yoosung wasn’t vulnerable right now I’d want you to come back and help.”

“Help?”

“I’ve traced her phone to her building, we’re almost certain she’s there. She disabled my bugs and blinded every camera in her building. Jumin has people on every floor if she tries to move but V wants to give her another day.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Just the four of us. Yoosung, Jaehee and Zen are in the dark. They don’t even know about the break up.”

“Is that--should Yoosung not tell anyone?”

“If you can stop him without worrying him go ahead.”

“If I’d have asked to go home?” Saeran frowns pulling an unfamiliar guitar out of his brother’s trunk.

“Just keep an eye on the apartment, let me know if anything weird happens ok?”

Saeran shrugs and holds out the guitar, “What the fuck is this?”

“Told’ya I was gonna get you one right?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I was stubbornly attached to the first 2000 words and could not bring myself to re-write them. If you follow my other fics and the drama of the file recoveries, I am still sorting files but I've recovered almost everything.


	5. Chapter 5

Saeran sees his therapist twice a week, finally being able to take appointments during office hours. He sat in the waiting room alone, his headphones in listening to a song he’d been trying to learn all week on his guitar. He’d watched a woman with a little girl come and go, he’d seen a man with angry red welts sticking out from beneath his sleeve and a woman with obvious track marks. Saeran could see himself in all of them as they sat as far from one another as they could get. 

Reflections of one another even as they did their damnedest to separate themselves.

“You spent a few days with your friend this week right?” Doctor Rhee is asking him, his time is almost up.

Saeran nods, his fingers digging into his now white hair. When his brother had left Yoosung had already been almost finished putting the colour in his own hair and he’d pointed Saeran at two bottles near a plastic bowl. He hadn’t had anything to do the ends though so Saeran simply had white hair. A little longer than he’d like, a little plainer than he preferred.

“It was the Kim boy, yes?”

Saeran swallows. “Yeah, Yoosung. He had another surgery and he asked me to help him out after.”

“That’s a significant show of trust on his part, how did his girlfriend feel about you being there?”

“They broke up,” Saeran says quietly, not sure if he was in for a lecture or—

“Hmm, and how do you feel about that?”

He’d have preferred the lecture. “Conflicted,’ he admits.

“You’ve mentioned that there have been issues and you were concerned for them, do think you may have confounded these issues?”

Saeren chews the inside of his lip. There’s no reason or excuse to dislike to Dr. Rhee but his formal manner threw Saeran off. He’d preferred it at first but now it just seemed cold. “I—well no, not exactly.” The doctor’s eyebrows raise while he waits for Saeran to continue. “I mean I’m not  _entirely_ innocent, but it’s not my fault. Yoosung said she’s been lying and that she’d gotten mean? She called me and made some accusations but I uh, I don’t think I  _caused_ it, I wasn’t  _trying_ to.”

“And Jisu is a _friend_ of yours from the cult?”

Saeran nods.

“Does this worry you?”

_He and Yoosung had been sitting on the little couch, backs against each arm, feet tangled in the middle playing some ridiculous anime game Yoosung had where they could both control characters during encounters. Saeran had been thinking about how comfortable the little couch was with only two of them on it for once, stretched out a little not all squished together, when Yoosung’s phone had chimed and his had vibrated in his pocket._

_[707]: We’ve got her if you want to come home_

_He watched Yoosung jerk to standing and walk away, he could already see the tears forming in his eyes as he walked past and from the muffled voice on the phone it was either Jumin or V he was talking to. If he had wanted to leave at all he didn’t now._

_[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: I’m going to stay with Yoosung ok?  
[707]: lol figured as much_

_His brother didn’t bother explaining the situation, he was probably still with whoever was updating Yoosung right now and Saeran was certain as he watched the blond boy walk towards him with tears in his eyes he would hear the whole story._

“She’s in the hospital right now I think,” he says without feeling. He wasn’t exactly certain the nature of the facility Jumin and V had put her in, if it was medical or simply a rehab, if it was the same one he’d been in. “They uh, she had a breakdown I guess, kind of, she was on something when they found her,” he shrugs.

Yoosung had been so upset, worried that he’d missed some sign, that she’d been high in front of him and he’d never noticed. Saeran had done his best to try to explain the way her drug use had probably worked. He’d tried to point out that if _he_ , a certified recovering addict _,_ hadn’t noticed Jisu was using it was pretty likely she was only doing it when she was alone. He’d tried to explain that her mood swings were likely because of that.

But Yoosung was already in a spiral of his own by then, and all Saeran could do was try to keep him safe while he watched him pour himself drinks.

“How do you feel about that?”

“I’m uh, I worry about Yoosung, but I don’t— Is it fucked up that it made me feel better about my recovery?”

Dr. Rhee looks up at him eyebrows raised, waiting for him to continue. Saeran was sick of that face.

“B-because she made it look so easy but, I don’t know, if she’s struggling too? You know? Maybe I’m not such a god damned fuck up?” He slumps into his chair.

“That’s reasonable.”

Saeran fights the urge to groan. “I uh, I wanted to ask, about the, you know, infatuation stuff we’ve talked about?”

“Because the Kim boy is single now?” Rhee smirks and Saeran covers his face.

“Yeah, because Yoosung is single now.”

“Saeran you seem to be very much in control of your delusions at the moment, I don’t think you need to be concerned with falling back into your obsessions right now.”

“What if,” he starts but he has trouble finding the right words. “How do I know if it’s actual feelings or a fixation?”

“Are you considering pursuing a relationship with the Kim boy?”

“I don’t know,” Saeran shrugs, “he’s my best friend but—”

“But?”

“He uh, in his sleep he said he _knows_ that I, you know, and then we, we were having a kind of intense fucking conversation and I almost, well I kind of,” he groans and pulls the hood of his sweater up, “I almost kissed him but I don’t know I think he wanted me to? Is that just, is it normal wishful thinking because I have a _crush_ on him or is it, I dunno am I obsessing again?”

“Saeran,” Dr. Rhee almost chuckles, and Saeran is relieved to hear some kind of inflection in the other man’s voice for once, “I think if you’re concerned about fixating on this boy again then you’re likely _not_. Try to evaluate you’re reactions and remember how negatively your fixation presented.”

“He wants me to go to a bar with him tonight,” Saeran mumbles as he watches the doctor glance at his watch.

“Mmhm, are you going to go?”

“I think so?” Saeran shrugs.

“Are you going to drink while you’re out?” His Doctor asks with a raised eyebrow.

Saeran glances away, they’d discussed this. His doctor didn’t think that drinking in moderation was out of the question forever but the last few times he’d brought it up he’d been told firmly that he didn’t think Saeran was ready yet. “I didn’t, I mean I thought we’d decided that it wasn’t something I should attempt right now? So I guess no?”

Rhee flips through Saeran’s chart for a moment and frowns. “I think if you feel that you can, I wouldn’t have an issue with you have one or two reasonable drinks during the evening, considering your medications I think that would be safe. As long as you trust your friends should you react poorly.”

“R-really?”

Rhee nods, “I think you’ve earned it. We can discuss any issues at your next session, and I want you to understand that I’m only giving you the OK for this one event, this does not extend to any and every evening.”

“Yeah, of course.” He nods.

Yoosung was waiting at the bunker when Saeran got home. Smiling wide as he watched Saeran step in the door and toe off his big black boots, he was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet when his friend looked up at him.

“Hey,” Saeran says, trying to frown, Yoosung watches him fight with the urge to smile. “Do you ever sit fucking still?”

“I’m standing,” Yoosung points out leaning closer to Saeran, “notice anything different about me?”

“Besides the fact that you’re about 15% more sunshine than usual?” Saeran snorts.

“Is that a compliment?” His brother laughs from somewhere behind Yoosung.

Yoosung watches Saeran walk past him, digging in his pocket for something as he goes. “Come on,” Yoosung whines at his back, “did you really not notice.”

“You look nice without glasses Yoosung,” Saeran says without turning around, he hands something to Saeyoung before turning back to flash a small smile at him.

“Really?” Saeyoung says, his voice higher than normal and Yoosung raises his eyebrows.

Saeran smirks at him before turning to his brother. “He said just for tonight, he wants to see what happens.”

“So what? It’s a fucking experiment then?” Saeyoung grunts.

Yoosung frowns, “I thought you said you’d come with me tonight?”

Saeran’s smirk grows to a lopsided grin, “That’s why he’s pissed off,” he inclines his head towards his brother, “Dr. Rhee gave me permission to have a drink or two tonight.”

“Oh my god,” Saeyoung groans, “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Saeran raises an eyebrow, “You could come with us.”

“I have to work, I just—”

Yoosung watches as Saeran puts a hand on Saeyoung’s shoulder. “I know, but get the fuck over it, I’m not going to fuck up ok? And Yoosung and Zen will be there so it will be fine.”

Saeyoung nods.

“So you can, you can drink with us then?” Yoosung smiles. He hadn’t considered ever really drinking with Saeran, he didn’t drink often himself but he thought, well he hoped, that maybe Saeran wouldn’t be so tense with him if he did. The night Jumin had called to tell him they’d found Jisu, messed up on _something_ , he had not taken it well.

Saeran had been kind, and then he’d taken care of him when he’d drank his feelings despite the fact that it probably had been one of his worse decisions given the pain killers he’d been on. But Saeran hadn’t lectured him, he’d just made sure he was safe and listened to him complain. He’d been reserved since then though.

And Yoosung maybe had hopes for tonight.

Saeran watches Yoosung with his new, glasses free, profile. He stares off into space with a stupid grin on his face and Saeran can’t help but give him a playful shove. “What time are we meeting Zen? Is anyone else coming?”

“I, uh, I don’t know, Zen said he’d text me when he was finished at rehearsal and think we’re going to get something to eat first.”

Saeran nods, “I uh, you can’t get fucked up tonight ok?”

Yoosung frowns at him for a minute, “I what?”

“I mean, you know, I don’t want to mess up your plans but I have a two drink max? I need someone to make sure it doesn’t fuck me up so Saeyoung doesn’t worry like a fucking granny ok?” He casts a sardonic frown at his brother over his shoulder.

“Y-yeah, ok,” Yoosung nods and earns himself another lopsided grin.

Saeran showers, certain that his brother is giving Yoosung a very firm list of expectations, and warning signs and a lengthy amount of threats. He listens to their muffled voices through the bathroom door while he works the sticky hair cream Zen had given him into his hair and applies eyeliner. He runs his hands through his hair, long enough now that he could almost tie it all back if he wanted to.

He considers it for a minute, a small but loose bun would hold in his hair, would that be stupid? Would two white haired guys with their hair _up_ walking into a bar together be weird? Would Yoosung like it?

He’d lied when he asked Yoosung not to get too drunk, he said it was in case drinking triggered something but really he’d just wanted Yoosung mostly sober in case he got the balls to _really_ talk to him. He lets his hair fall loose and messy.

Rhee had seemed to think it was possible to have actual feelings for Yoosung, without being obsessed, without fixating. Deep down he knew, if he was really obsessing over Yoosung, if he had really fallen back on old habits, he would hate that Zen was coming with them. He would fight with his brother more when he teased him, he would have pounced the moment he found out that Yoosung and Jisu had broken up.

He feels lighter to think of it as a crush and not something more sinister. Glad that he’d forced himself to bring it up.

He likes the place they meet Zen at. A small family owned Pizza place near the bar they plan to go to, he likes the selection of less traditional toppings and accepts the teasing from Zen and Yoosung when he orders a pizza covered in vegetables.

“Have you assholes met my brother,” he laughs, “these might be the only vegetables I see this month.”

He likes the way Zen howls when he finds something particularly funny. He had found the tall actor to be overbearing at first, despite everything he knew about him. He’d resented that Zen was so much better at controlling his emotions, he hated that he could bury so much with false confidence and swagger.

But Zen was kind, and if Saeran was honest he’d been glad that the handsome performer had made an effort to befriend him. Even if Saeran was almost certain he’d only started trying because Yoosung had told him to, he considered Zen the second friend he’d made in his recovery.

Yoosung and Saeran watch Zen stride confidently past the bouncer posted at the door, both of them stopped by a firm arm as she reaches out for their ID with the other. They’re shoving their IDs back in their pockets when his head pokes back out the door, “What’s taking so long, come on.”

He was like a great big puppy, Saeran muses, no wonder Zen and Yoosung seemed to get along so well. He legs behind purposely, trying to situate himself before the bar fills up, trying to make sure he knows the quickest way to the exit if he gets overwhelmed.

“I hear we’re celebrating,” Zen grins over Yoosung’s head when he catches up to them. “Let me buy you your first official drink as a recovered, you know whatever you’re recovered from.”

Saeran snorts, “Real fucking eloquent, I thought you were an actor.”

Zen roles his eyes and waits.

“I don’t know, Whiskey Seven.”

Zen nods and Yoosung grins at him. They wait, the pretty girls on the other end of the bar have the single bartender busier than he likely needs to be but they’re in no rush. When the bartender makes it to them he looks relieved at their simple orders, beer and well-shots we’re much more manageable than the brightly coloured drinks the women had walked away with. Zen tips the man better than Saeran would have, or would have expected the actor to, and they move to find a table.

Saeran had come here once before with Yoosung and Jisu, the bar was really three bars, all with their own street accesses but also connect by a series of stairways and halls. He knew after a few more beers Zen would probably try to get them to go to the lower bar, the music was louder and the club itself was mostly dance floor. Saeran preferred it here, he didn’t really _feel_ like dancing and at least here the music wasn’t so loud you couldn’t talk.

He could be talked into the upper level a little more easily, the music was loud but it was either house or heavy, the crowd was less grabby, and though smaller than the other two he felt less claustrophobic there.

Yoosung is three beers in and doing a shot when Saeran finishes his first drink. He smiles at the sloppy way Yoosung gestures while he talks. Lecturing Zen about smoking and grabbing at the cigarettes in the taller man’s hand.

“You want one?” Zen holds out the pack to him. He considers it, no one had ever said anything about him smoking, but then he catches the way Yoosung is chewing on his lip and frowning at him and he shakes head.

“Better not,” he shrugs, “don't want to fuck up my streak.”

Yoosung smiles, unrestrained by sobriety his thoughts play across his face with even more freedom than usual. Zen shrugs, sticking the pack back in his jacket pocket and moving through the crowd towards the balcony where he could smoke.

“Are you having fun,” Yoosung sing songs.

Saeran nods, “Could be worse.”

“You finished your drink,” he chirps, clapping his hands a little.

Saeran finds himself laughing. “I did, you finished a few, are you going to slow down?”

Yoosung’s brows knit together and he nods. “I didn’t, I mean wow, you’re _really_ slow.”

He laughs more as Yoosung claps a hand over his mouth. “Thanks Yoosung.”

“I mean, just, that lasted you a really long time.”

“I can only have two, seemed like a waste to chug it.” But he can feel it, just one drink but in combination with the meds he was on it felt more like two, maybe three. The edge of a buzz crept up on him and he considers a second.

“Another right?” Yoosung smiles wide already moving towards the bar.

The girls from earlier follow Zen back from the balcony and he shoots Saeran an apologetic look as he approaches the table.

“Awwww,” one of the drunk girls croons, “is he your baby brother?”

Saeran snorts. “We’re twins.”

“Really?” another one asks squinting at him. “You’re not identical though.”

Zen laughs.

“Nah,” Saeran shrugs, “but I colour my hair so he doesn’t feel so bad about being ugly.”

He smiles when Zen lets out another howling laugh, “Yeah my brother here keeps me humble you know?”

The third girl takes a few steps towards Saeran and smiles at him, he watches Yoosung reach around her and set his drink in front of him. “Are you triplets,” she whispers in awe glancing at Yoosung.

He covers his mouth. “Yoosung’s our littlest brother,” he says through his hand.

“Ohhh,” the first coos, “he’s so cute!”

Yoosung blushes but Saeran can see he’s not happy. Zen doesn’t appear entirely comfortable with the situation either. The second woman is inching closer to him, reaching out to grab at his arm as he skillfully evades her. He watches as the three tipsy women do their best to join them, he watches as Zen casually steps out of reach every time one of them reaches for him. He watches the tallest one descend on Yoosung, and he watches Yoosung totally fail at throwing her off as she tucks her head against his shoulder.

The quiet one simply sits beside him. “You’re not really related are you?” She says softly, her words slurring together a little.

He shakes his head and sips his drink.

The girls buy them a round, completely offended when Saeran refuses holding up the Whiskey Seven Yoosung had bought him, and leaving the shot they set beside his bottled water untouched. They pick at him for drinking so little even after Yoosung bluntly explains the situation. Zen leans over when their backs are turned and takes the abandoned shot, giving him a quick wink.

“You wanna dance?”

Saeran recognises the song that’s playing, or some version of it, and he clearly hears the tall woman holding tight to Yoosung’s arm excitedly accept, followed by a kind of squawk that draws him to actually look at Yoosung.

“I uh, I was talking to Saeran,” he grunts trying to pull away from his new friend.

The quiet girl who’d taken to leaning against him stares up at him as he glances towards Yoosung and nods.

“Are you ok?” He asks as he follows the blond to the dance floor. Yoosung didn’t dance, not that Saeran had ever seen. Mostly Yoosung stood close to someone else while they danced with him. Like the worlds least enthusiastic stripper pole.

“Yeah,” he nods. “Those girls are so, so, uh much? You know?”

Saeran laughs.

Yoosung reaches back as they step into the throng of people and takes his hands pulling him closer. He turns when they’re firmly lost inside the crowd of people on the dance floor, the song fading into something not only more familiar but much closer to Saeran’s wheel house.

“I can’t dance,” Yoosung whines as the crowd starts to heave to the beat of the pop punk song.

“This is an easy one,” Saeran says stepping closer to Yoosung and bouncing to the beat on the balls of his feet as he turns his friend to face him. It seemed almost strange to have to _teach_ someone to mosh but soon Yoosung was comfortably bouncing to the music, the two of them bouncing off the floor with the crowd bouncing off one another and the people around them. Loose grins on their faces as sweat started to soak through their shirts.

Zen is alone when they make their way panting back to the table. Saeran can feel the alcohol muddying up his brain and he realizes he’s still holding Yoosung’s hand when Zen smirks at them. He loosens his grip but Yoosung doesn’t let go.

“Let’s get something to eat,” he inclines his head towards Yoosung and finishes his beer.

“My brother called you?”

Zen shrugs, “Does it matter? Do you want to stay?”

“Not really.”

Saeyoung is waiting in one of his subtler cars when they finally manage to wrangle Yoosung out of the bar. Saeran lets the taller man sit up front and takes the backseat with Yoosung.

“He’s not gonna barf is he?” Saeyoung asks frowning at them in the rear-view mirror.

“You’re being an asshole,” Yoosung singsongs back causing Zen to howl again.

“Fine, fine, but you can’t barf in my car, rule number one of Number Seven Taxi Service _no barf_!”

“We should have a sleep-over!”

“No thank you,” Zen laughs as the car pulls away.

Saeyoung takes them through a fast-food drive through and it’s all Saeran can do to control Yoosung while they try to order. Yoosung starts by ordering things that aren’t on the menu, insisting that they _used_ to make it. When that doesn’t work he starts to shout about Zen, telling the poor night shift worker that Zen will sing for them if they feed him what he wants, when that doesn't work Yoosung begins to aggressively offer himself as payment.

Saeyoung records the entire thing while Zen laughs wildly in the front seat. Saeran is thankful no one is behind them as he does his best to keep Yoosung from peeling his clothing off while he hangs out the window of Saeyoung’s car shouting about how things were better when he was younger.

He stays in the back with Yoosung after Zen get’s out. The younger man starting to nod off against him, his brother glances at them in the rear view, “Are you going home Yoosung.”

“No,” he says firmly, “we’re having a sleepover.”

“You sure?” Saeyoung asks, and Saeran knows his brother is talking to him but he doesn’t get to answer.

“Uh, duh? I said it, stop being shitty Saeyoung,” Yoosung says, his voice becoming more and more cartoony with each word and Saeran can’t help but laugh. He nods to his brother in the mirror and Saeyoung shrugs back.

The twins are out of the car almost as soon as it’s parked but Yoosung stays in the back seat. At first he just sits there watching Saeyoung walk away but soon Saeran is leaning against the car watching him fumble with his seatbelt.

“I don’t understand foreign seat belts,” Yoosung whines.

Saeran laughs, there’s nothing foreign about Yoosung’s seatbelt, “You need help?”

“I’m not a _baby_ ,” Yoosung groans.

There’s a small cheer when he finally frees himself and Saeran watches as his triumphant smile quickly fades as he presses himself against the door with a thunk.

“You ok buddy? He chuckles.

“Childproof locks,” he grunts, “can’t open the door when the car is moving.”

“You’re in a parked car Yoosung.”

“I don’t think so?”

“We’re in the garage, do you need a hand?”

“I have plenty of those, don’t be an _ass_ Saeryoung.”

“Did you do that because you forgot who you’re talking to?” laughs.

“I know which one you are,” he pouts, “your the mean twin who _locks me in stupid cars_.”

“Can I open the door for you?” he offers.

Yoosung nods at him with what might possibly be the most pitiful look he’s ever seen. He tries not to laugh but as he opens the door he watches the blond pitch himself at it and manage only to tumble out of the back of the car into a crumpled pile on the garage floor.

“Why did you do that?” he groans as Saeran helps him up.

“I told you I was opening the door dummy.”

“Why are you so strong?” Yoosung whispers.

Saeran laughs while Yoosung leans heavy on him. “You weren’t supposed to drink this much.”

“Well you weren’t supposed to be so cute,” Yoosung groans straightening up and pitching himself towards the door to the bunker.

Saeran tries his best to not blush but at least Yoosung is far enough gone he probably won’t notice. Saeyoung is absent when they get into the main house. Likely finished his work and in his room avoiding them smell of beer and smoke that clings to them. He watches Yoosung start to fling open the cupboards in the kitchen and considers his brother.

The things their mother had done to them had been so warped during his conditioning with Mint Eye that they hardly effected him, every trigger he had related more to something from his time in the cult, the time before still holding some sense of unreality. But Saeyoung could not stomach the smell of liquor and cigarettes combined, he knew for him to pick them up at the bar he had to be pretty worried.

He also knew his brother would never touch so much as a glass of wine out of fear of becoming like their mother, Saeran mused that proving he was better than _her_ had been one of the reasons he was never afraid to have a drink, one of the reasons he was so adamant to earn back this particular privilege.

“You’re thinking a lot,” Yoosung says softly, suddenly a lot closer to him than Saeran remembered.

“I uh, no, I’m not just uh spaced the fuck out for a minute,” he takes a step forward, Yoosung needed to drink some water and maybe take an edvil before he put him to sleep. Yoosung doesn’t move, doesn’t give way to Saeran’s approach and Saeran tries to pretend he doesn’t notice the way his friends hand purposely brushes his hip when he moves past.

“Do you want to sleep in my room?” he asks, trying to ignore the way Yoosung is looking at him. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No,” Yoosung whines, “that’s not fair it’s a sleep-over, we’re supposed to st-stay in the same room and-and talk and—”

“Paint our nails? Have pillow fights? Tell ghost stories?” Saeran smirks digging the bottle of edvil from what was supposed to be a spice rack but had become a kind of medicine rack instead.

Yoosung snatches the pill and water out of his hands and frowns at Saeran while he tosses both back, fighting a little when Saeran takes the glass back and fills it two more times insisting he drink. “Who can drink this much water,” he whines.

“People who don’t want to be hungover in the morning,” Saeran says flatly.

Yoosung is off as soon as Saeran sets the glass in the sink, almost skipping to his room. He shakes his head, he should have known better, Yoosung had never really been a good judge of his own tolerance. At least he was cheerful now, not like the week before. Saeran was confident he wouldn’t be holding a sobbing, heaving Yoosung over the toilet tonight.

There was always a chance of an apologetic, heaving Yoosung in the morning but he felt better about that than repeating the latter. He was supposed to be the mess after all, and Yoosung the cheerful distraction.

“I borrowed pajama pants,” Yoosung whispers, a mop of messy hair and big purple eyes peeking over a blanket in the far corner of Saeran’s bed.

“Are you cold?” Saeran asks suspicious of the wide eyed drunk in his bed.

He watches Yoosung as he slips out of his pants, intending to sleep in his tshirt and boxers. Yoosung seemed to cling and Saeran had never been good a regulating his body temperature. There was too much comfort in his heavy blanket to kick it off though.

Yoosung shakes his head and Saeran smirks, “Do you want to borrow a tshirt?”

A pink flush spreads across the barely visible tops of Yoosung’s cheeks as he nods.

Saeran grabs him a shirt and frowns as he tosses it to Yoosung, “Did you take out your contacts?”

“My what?” Yoosung squeaks, the shirt half over his head while he clumsily tries to maneuver the blanket, “Oh! My new eyes!” he chirps when his head pops out of the shirts.

Saeran shakes his head and gets the new package of contact solution from his dresser and frowns at the wide-eyed boy in his bed. “You forget how to do it don’t you?”

Yoosung blushes, “I—No! I know, I’m just you know, wondering?”

“Wondering what?” Saeran laughs.

“If you do?”

He sighs. He says nothing when he leaves the room to wash his hands and remove his own contacts. When he comes back Yoosung is sitting in the middle of his bed chewing his lip and frowning. “Hold still,” Saeran says, taking the little case from Yoosung’s hand and opening it.

Yoosung can barely stay still when he’s sober and removing his friend’s contacts while he gently sways is not the easiest thing Saeran had accomplished that day but he manages and when he finishes Yoosung blinks a few times and squints at him.

“You look, _soft_ ,” he says quietly as Saeran climbs into the bed next to him.

“So, you want to tell ghost stories then?” Saeran teases.

“N-no?” Yoosung says climbing back to the place he’d claimed in Saeran’s bed.

“Ok, good,” Saeran smiles turning off the lamp and rolling over. He’s almost asleep, a testament to having spent so much time in crowds that day, when he feels Yoosung’s arms slip around his chest.

“Mmm glad we did your hair,” he whispers into Saeran’s back and Saeran can feel goosebumps crawl across his skin.

“Thanks,” Saeran says, a little hoarsely.

He listens as Yoosung’s breath steadies, liking the way Yoosung's arm feels draped over him, liking the way his fingers twitch against his tshirt. Saeran can’t help but let his mind drift to the possibility of this being a regular thing. If he were to ask Yoosung out sometime, if Yoosung were to say yes? Could this be his future? He wonders exactly how much time he should give Yoosung to process what had happened with Jisu before he tests those waters.

He doesn’t notice the bed squeak, or the mattress shift. He doesn’t notice the movement behind him or the loss of the arm around him until Yoosung is pressing him onto his back and throwing a leg over his waist.

“Yoo—Wait, Yoosung,” Saeran tries to stop him but Yoosung covers his mouth in a sloppy kiss, swallowing his concern and pressing his tongue into Saeran’s mouth as his slides his hands up to cup the smaller man’s cheeks.

Saeran let’s himself sink into the kiss for only a moment, just long enough to commit the way Yoosung tastes to memory, just long enough that he can remember the way his tongue feels in his mouth, before he pushes him away.

Yoosung fights him at first, a small whine passing his lips as he pushes back against Saeran’s hands before he accepts it and rests back on his heels for a moment before slipping dejected off Saeran’s lap.

“You _wanted_ to kiss me,” Yoosung says, and Saeran can hear him trying not to cry, and the thought of it breaks his heart just a little.

“Yoosung you’re drunk,” he says softly.

“I know you _like_ me,” Yoosung mumbles as Saeran turns the lamp on. He looks at the way Yoosung sits beside him, one leg still draped over Saeran’s thigh while his head hangs down. Saeran watches the first fat tear roll off his nose. “Y-you kissed me back, you _wanted_ to kiss me,” he says, petulant.

Saeran can’t help but smile. “I did,” he says quietly, “I-uh, I still do,” he admits and has to hold out a hand as Yoosung throws himself forward towards him. “But not when you’re drunk.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy this because I think the next chapter could hurt


	6. Chapter 6

Yoosung’s eyebrows knit together; confusion, worry, disappointment all cross his face. “B-but, if we both—”

Saeran reaches out and covers Yoosung’s mouth with his hand while he tries to organize his thoughts. “Yoosung, if you—shit, if you _still_ want to kiss me tomorrow, when you’re sober, I’ll—Uh, fuck I’ll let you ok? If you really want to. But I don’t, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Uh, dummy, I kissed you,” Yoosung snorts pulling Saeran’s hand away.

“Uh huh,” Saeran laughs as he watches Yoosung cross his arms and tilt his head.

“So you’re not—”

Saeran stops him again, this time instead of pushing him away he pulls Yoosung against his chest reaching to turn off the lamp before he lays back in his bed. “Don’t be a shit Yoosung,” he says softly pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“So,” Yoosung says quietly into Saeran’s tshirt, “when I still want to kiss you in the morning that’s ok?”

“As long as your sober,” Saeran yawns as Yoosung’s arms tighten around him and his heart starts to beat heavy against his ribs.

“Mmm,” Yoosung hums, “and then what?”

Saeran doesn’t answer, he can’t, he doesn’t know what happens after that. Do they go on a date? Does accepting this carefully considered kiss from his best friend, who he is definitely in love with, mean they’re boyfriends? Yoosung doesn’t notice, his leg creeps up until it’s wrapped around Saeran’s but he’s already fast asleep.

He lays awake a while longer. It seems too good to be true, less than a week after he’d broken up with Jisu and Yoosung was trying to kiss him. Jisu was away, somewhere, recovering and there would be time for them to get used to whatever this would be before they saw her again. He wasn’t such a fool to think Yoosung wouldn’t want to stay her friend, to support her through whatever. Saeran wanted to too, he knew in some ways what she must have felt.

He falls asleep with his hand tangled in blond hair two arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

Yoosung is watching him when he wakes up in the morning. His hair is a mess, sticking out as he leans over Saeran and quickly presses his lips to Saeran’s. It’s not as confident as the night before. No throwing his leg over Saeran’s body, no pushing his tongue into Saeran’s mouth just a pressing of lips and brief teasing of his tongue along Saeran’s lower lip, he pulls away before the kiss could deepen.

Saeran can’t help the sleepy smile that spreads across his face. 

Yoosung is blushing beet red. “I-in case you thought I forgot,” he murmurs not quite meeting Saeran’s eyes.

Saeran can taste mint when he presses his lips together and he is immediately aware of the rancid taste in his own mouth. He brings a hand up, feeling his cheeks get hot. “You, uh you brushed your teeth.”

Still slightly pink Yoosung smiles and nods, “I uh, yeah I’ve been up for a little while.”

“You were waiting for me to wake up?” Saeran asks, still covering his mouth, as though his breath might ruin the moment.

Yoosung nods. “You said—”

Saeran shakes his head and smiles, there’s a grateful glint in his eyes when he looks at Yoosung, “Thank you.”

Saeran excuses himself to the bathroom where he washes away most of last night’s eyeliner and puts his glasses on before quickly brushing his teeth. Yoosung is still sitting in the middle of his bed when he comes back, still wearing his borrowed tshirt and sleep pants, chewing on his bottom lip as he watches Saeran pull on his own pair of flannel pants.

Saeran flashes him a smirk and kneels in front of him. “Were you nervous Yoosung?”

Yoosung nods. “I uh, I wanted to do that all night, I guess I let my nerves get to me.”

Searan settles down on his heels and looks Yoosung over. “You know,” he muses, trailing a finger along Yoosung’s knee. “It was really hard to say no to you last night.”

If Yoosung was a puppy his ears would have perked up and his tail would be audibly wagging. “R-really?”

Saeran shuffles closer, Yoosung’s reaction giving him a burst of confidence. “Mmhmm, it was really fucking hot, no ones ever done that before.” He squeezes Yoosung’s hip a little before running his hand up his side.

“No one’s ever _kissed_ you before?” Yoosung says, it’s soft but incredulous.

“Not like you kissed me last night,” Saeran nods, “definitely not without me telling them to.” He shuffles closer to Yoosung, rising up on his knees to feel taller than the other boy just for one moment. He means to draw this out, give Yoosung plenty of time to change his mind.

Eager lips press against his as Yoosung’s arms lock behind his head holding him closer as he presses Saeran to open his mouth. He gasps, a little surprised, before letting himself melt into the kiss. He lets his tongue stroke lazily at Yoosung’s before teasing at the roof of his mouth.

He lets his hands slide down Yoosung’s back as the other man’s cradle and stroke at his face and he grabs a handful of Yoosung’s ass lifting him a little and pulling him closer. They both groan as Yoosung stumbles closer pressing his thigh between Saeran’s.

Saeran can hear the footsteps in the hallway as Yoosung hands slip under his shirt, his brother always knocks, never comes in without permission. They have time, he wants to revel in this for as long as he possibly can. Wants to soak in the soft sounds Yoosung makes against his lips as he presses himself even closer to Saeran. The chirps and whines and purrs as Saeran’s hand squeezes his ass, kneading up to his back and under his borrowed shirt.

“Wake up, Seven needs you to—”

Everything is white for a split second while they do their best to push away from one another. Hoping against hope that they were fast enough, that between the door opening and the low light Jisu hadn’t seen anything. 

“Sorry,” she says quietly, “sorry I should have knocked, I for-forgot to—” her words are broken by soft sob as she turns back towards the hallway. “I didn’t mean, uh, your brother needs to ask you something when you’re done.”

“Mother fucker,” Saeran growls, his cheeks pink.

“Oh no,” Yoosung whispers.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, there was no one to be angry at except himself, he could have stopped when he heard footsteps, it wouldn’t have made things easier for either of them but no matter what had happened between Yoosung and Jisu, she hadn’t deserved to find out like that.

They’re still sitting guilty and frozen on opposite ends of Saeran’s bed when V peeks his head into the still opened doorway. “I know things between you have been dific—Oh.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Yoosung sobs covering his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry,” V says glancing at the floor, but Saeran can see the play of a smile on the corner of his mouth and he feels a little lighter for it. “I guess that answers my question.”

“Oh my god,” Yoosung groans again, nothing but blond hair and red skin behind his hands.

“Saeyoung didn’t mention, I’m sorry, he just said Yoosung was here.”

“He didn’t know,” Saeran mutters.

“Oh,” V smiles, “ _oh_ , I uh, oh.” He blushes.

Neither Saeran or Yoosung speak.

“Your brother thought you might have clean sheets, Jisu is going to spend a few days here while Valiant Orchards prepares a room for her.”

Saeran rolls his eyes, “do you get some kind of kick back for referrals?”

V laughs, “I suppose I should maybe mention it to them.”

Saeran gets up and goes to his closet. He did have clean sheets, and spare pillows and blankets. “I guess she’s sleeping in Saeyoung’s room then?” He asks.

V nods and holds out his arms for the bedding. “She is upset so your brother took her for a drive until she can calm down.”

“Sh-should I go?” Yoosung whispers from the bed.

Saeran pushes past V. “I’ll make the bed, no one else should have to deal with his fucking mess.”

V and Yoosung watch Saeran disappear down the hall before V answers. “If you have places to be, then yes, but she’s going to have questions I think you should both answer.”

“She, she is?” He had enough of his own questions, how could he answer any of hers. “L-like what?”

“She will probably want to know when this started,” V says softly gesturing to Yoosung to follow him into the main part of the bunker, “it’s quite soon, she’ll want to know what you’re doing and she may have uncomfortable questions for you.”

“Like if I’m gay?” Yoosung says suddenly, like he’d only just thought of it.

V nods as they step into the small kitchen. “She might ask that yes.”

“What if I don’t know the answers?”

“It’s ok to tell her that Yoosung.” V chuckles.

“W-won’t that make it worse?”

“That part’s not about her,” Saeran grunts hauling a pile of something towards the garage. 

V moves comfortably through the kitchen and Yoosung wonders for the first time just how badly Vs eyes had been injured, he was more than a few treatments ahead of Yoosung and still wearing glasses. He wonders if this advice is all personal experience for V, or simply hindsight. He accepts the cup of coffee the tall man hands him and watches him. 

Not so long ago Yoosung wouldn’t have trusted a word out of V’s mouth, he would have visibly bristled at any advice V tried to give him. But V was trying to atone for the things he’d been party too, and if Yoosung could forgive Rika for what he knew of her involvement in Mint Eye then it had seemed petty not give V a chance. Especially when Jumin, Saeyoung and even Saeran had begun to let him back into their lives.

“We uh, we do kind of owe her some kind of, whatever,” Saeran shrugs coming back into the kitchen. “I mean considering.”

Yoosung hangs his head. “Maybe she saw something I didn’t,” he mumbles to his coffee cup.

It wasn’t the first time Yoosung had said that, and Saeran smiled slightly to know he hadn’t been struggling alone those few days in Yoosung’s small apartment. 

The rattle of bowls hitting the counter draw both their eyes as they watch V pour them each cereal. “You should eat,” he says softly, “before they come back.”

Saeran fetches spoons while Yoosung searches the fridge for milk.

“I know it’s only been a short while,” V starts and they can both recognise the change to his voice, something slightly more formal, something Saeran recognizes as an attempt to disguise deeper emotions. “She’s been meeting daily with Dr. Rhee and she’s been to two group sessions, as well as an NA meeting.”

“What was she on?” Saeran interrupts and he doesn’t miss the way Yoosung looks away from them.

V shakes his head, “I don’t know and I didn’t ask. I know you’re uncomfortable with some aspects of the 12 step program but I had hoped perhaps you could attend a few meetings with her.”

Saeran nods. “Yeah as long as no one tries to convert me and she wants me there I’ll go. But I need to—”

V holds up his hand. “I know Saeyoung spoke to you and I can assure you it was not what you think, any more than that you’ll have to ask her.”

Saeran lets out his breath in a huff and narrows his eyes on V.

He tousles his hair and then holds out his hands in supplication. “Someone once told me I was a _nosy motherfucker_ , I am trying to relinquish some control.”

“So,” Yoosung says, “there’s nothing really for me to do?”

V glances at him and Saeran has to wonder what he’ll say. The four of them, V, Saeyoung, Jumin and himself, had agreed not to tell Yoosung the whole truth. But there’s little way around this that doesn’t have Yoosung blaming himself.

Saeran knew more about Yoosung than even Yoosung knew, and one thing he was sure of was exactly how precarious Yoosung’s mood was. Especially right now. Saeran watches V, the two of them staring intently at one another trying to decide exactly how to explain the situation to Yoosung so that they didn’t cross that line from careful omission to straight out lying.

“It’s not that there is nothing for you to do,” V starts but he flounders when Yoosung focuses on him.

“You’re really important,” Saeran says suddenly, “you need to make sure she knows you weren’t lying to her while you were together. You’ll have to be there for her and maybe y-you can help take her to appointments.” Yoosung turns his intense lavender gaze on Saeran. “I uh, I’m not as important as you,” he says biting at his lip, “It’s just because I, you know, know what’s going on, I just look like I’m important because I know what to ask.”

“She’s never going to trust us,” Yoosung sighs, satisfied for the moment but Saeran can see that he’s going to have to answer for _something_ sooner or later.

V nods, “It will take some time, today had started out a better day for her but—”

“We _ruined_ it,” Yoosung groans. 

“It wasn’t _ideal_ ,” V tries.

“Yoosung,” Saeran says softly, closing the distance between them and taking him by the chin so he can’t look away. “Anything can ruin her day right now. The wrong kind of juice in the fridge, the wrong towel, even if she hadn’t seen us if we’d looked at one another too long, even if nothing had happened between us she already thought—”

“I-I _know_ ,” Yoosung whines.

V ducks his head and turns, “I have to meet with Jumin, tell Saeyoung I will be back this evening.” He pauses for a moment as he walks towards the door, casting a small smile back towards them. “I- regardless of the timing, I am happy for the two of you.”

There’s something about the way he says it, something about his eyes when he glances between them and Saeran can see the person V might have been before.

Saeran gathers the cereal bowls, Yoosung is gripping his spoon so hard Saeran is afraid it might bend but he reaches out taking Yoosung’s fist in his hand and runs his fingers over white knuckles, watching as he gradually relaxes and lets the spoon fall to the counter. Saeran takes it, washing the bowls under running water quickly before turning back to Yoosung.

“I-I—” Yoosung is holding the counter, his arms stiff his head down and Saeran can tell without seeing that he’s crying, “I’m a bad person.” He says finally.

“You’re not,” Saeran says, “not even a little.”

“I just,” he lets his head fall to the counter, “my first thought wasn’t that she would be hurt, it was that she _ruined_ our moment. That’s awful.”

“You’re allowed to be selfish sometimes,” Saeran says.

“Something was _wrong_ ,” Yoosung says, his arms muffling the words, “for months, and I just ignored it, I let her be mean and I was mad and I didn’t even try to help her.”

“ _Yoosung_ ,” Saeran places a tentative hand on the back of his neck as he watches Yoosung’s shoulders rise and fall with supressed sobs, “I don’t believe for a fucking minute that you didn’t try to help. She didn’t want it.”

He tries to think of something he can say, some way he can explain what had probably happened to Jisu and why she had done what she did without sounding too personal but it’s hard. Jisu wasn’t like him, he couldn’t hide when his meds stopped working, he couldn’t hide when he was overwhelmed or fighting a breakdown. Jisu persisted through sheer force of will because she had been trained to do that. He was volatile because that’s what they needed from him, Jisu was calculated.

He couldn’t tell Yoosung that this was all inevitable.

Yoosung doesn’t stand up when he looks at Saeran. “It hasn’t even been a week,” he says hoarsely, “how do I explain this to her, she’s going to blame you and it’s my fault.”

“Oh,” Saeran raises an eyebrow, _“you_ kiss me twice and suddenly everything is your fault?” He smirks at the twitch of Yoosung’s lip. “It only took you being so drunk you forgot how seatbelts work, and it’s not like I even kissed you back.”

Saeran takes Yoosung’s hand and pulls him up, tugging him closer as the taller boy drags his feet a little before collapsing into the hug. He buries his nose in Yoosung’s hair, it smelled like Saeyoung’s shampoo and Saeran’s styling cream and something uniquely Yoosung. Then Yoosung stands up straight, he rubs his nose along Saeran’s and offers him a small smile.

“Jesus Christ you’re cute,” Saeran sighs, leaning in to press his lips against Yoosung’s but pushing back when they hear the garage door open.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just me, don’t let me stop whatever you’re doing,” Saeyoung chuckles, “you’ve got about 4 minutes before Jisu comes in.”

Saeran reaches for Yoosung’s hand, he pulls him quickly against him and presses another quick kiss to his lips. “You should talk to her alone first,” he says watching their hands together,

“I think you both need that before we, you know.”

“Are you sure?” Yoosung squeezes his hand.

“I uh, yeah, I’ll just be outside.” It’s early and he’s already exhausted from this but he knows once Yoosung has talked to Jisu, regardless of whether they talk to her together or not, she will have questions for him, more than questions, and he hopes she saves them until after Yoosung leaves.

“Shouldn’t we talk, b-before I talk to her?”

“Probably,” Saeran squeezes Yoosung’s hand and kisses his cheek quickly as the garage door slams shut.

Yoosung drops his hand and takes two steps back as Jisu rounds the corner and makes a disgusted noise.

“I cleaned Saeyoung’s room for you,” Saeran says moving past Yoosung to go to his own room. Neither Jisu or Yoosung are anywhere to be seen when he comes out with the stupid acoustic guitar his brother had bought him. He slips out the sliding door to the overgrown backyard and sits on the little picnic table his brother had put there for him.

He picks at the soft folksy song he’d been trying to learn, with the idea of playing it for Yoosung if he ever got up the nerve to tell him how he feels. It almost feels silly now but he thinks maybe if he can figure it out it will cheer him up. It’s clumsy and his timing is still off, he’s no where near trying to sing along but he knows it well enough to let his mind wander while he picks at the strings.

He hopes Jisu isn’t too rough on Yoosung, it could be so hard not to lash out when things got bad, and she had a habit of appearing better than she was. It’s easy early on to blame everyone else and he’d certainly painted a target on Yoosung. Jisu could cut deep with her words and Yoosung was already an easy mark.

What could either of them tell her, aside from nothing she would want to hear. They hadn’t even gotten a day to explore the idea of being more than a warm body to one another. As confused as Yoosung had seemed Saeran wonders if he’s ever even said the word _bisexual_ out-loud before. Would Yoosung tell Jisu that Saeran was his boyfriend or would he evade the question.

What would he tell Jisu when she turned those dark eyes on him.

He’s almost through his eighth repetition of the song when he hears the glass door slide open. Yoosung’s eyes are red from crying and he’s pushing the contact case Saeran had given him the night before into the pocket of his borrowed sleep pants.

Her face had crumpled when Saeyoung had announced he had work to do and left them alone, almost as fast as Saeran had left. Yoosung barely has a moment to think about exactly how alike the Choi twins could be before Jisu was motioning for him to follow her out to the garage,

“You can at least help me with my bags,” she mumbles as they walk through the heavy door.

“Yeah, sure, anything you need,” he says forcing himself to be chipper, trying to remember how he’d done it before when they’d met and he’d been so sad all the time.

He grabs as many of her bags as he can, wondering how long she’ll be staying at the rehab if she’s packed this much stuff when he hears her whisper, “So how long did he wait?”

“W-what?” Yoosung stammers trying to keep up as he follows her back into the bunker to Saeyoung’s room.

“How long Yoosung, it’s only been a few days, how long after you told him you dumped me did he wait to fuck you?” There’s no emotion to her voice, she doesn’t shout, she doesn’t cry, she doesn’t even spit the words the way she had the night he’d kicked her out of his apartment.

“We haven’t,” he starts, “we didn’t,” he sounds weak, pitiful, like nothing he could say matters. He could tell her they hadn’t slept together, that they’d only just kissed. He could tell her she’d interrupted the first proper kiss they had, maybe that would make her laugh. A version of her, he knew, would have liked the irony of it.

“So he won after all,” she sighs setting down her bag. Saeran must have just swept all of Saeyoung’s things into a sheet, the room is spotless, cleaner than Yoosung ever remembers it being. The bed is made, the top of the dresser is clear and the closet door is actually closed.

“Jisu, he didn’t—”

“That’s not what it looked like.” She sits on the bed, her big dark eyes glued to his face, but there’s nothing there. Her expression is cold, like her voice.

“I-I kissed _him_ ,” he says almost frantically. Saeran was right this isn’t exactly his fault but it doesn’t mean he shouldn’t accept some of the blame, or ire, or whatever she might have in store for them.

She smirks and it’s almost frightening, there’s a hint of something close to what he’d seen on Saeran’s face, back when he’d been Unknown, when he’d tried to take his eyes. “So what?

You’re his pet now, you do tricks, and follow orders just like he always wanted.”

“I-you—Jisu that’s not fair,” he says firmly. 

“No,” she says standing, “what’s not fair is what you did to me.”

“I-I didn’t _do_ anything,” he says but his voice cracks as she steps closer to him.

“You promised me,” she says softly, “ _everyone_ promised me,” she repeats.

He doesn’t even realise he’s backing away until he’s pressed against the bedroom door. “Jisu I’m sorry I didn’t make that promise lightly it just, it didn’t work out.”

“Do you have any idea how it feels to know I was just a stepping stone, someone you could use while you figured your shit out. Do you know how people are going to look at me when they ask about you and I tell them you’re fucking gay?”

 _It’s not about her_ , he can hear Saeran say, but he knows Saeran isn’t here. Saeran who says he has no self preservation skills had run for his life, and it was just the two of them in this room and Yoosung felt like he was drowning. “I-I’m not gay Jisu, and it’s none of their business you know you can tell them that.”

“So what you lay in bed with your tough new boyfriend and laugh about how fucked up I am while you suck his dick? Does he pat your head and call you a good boy? Do you wear a little tail for him? Have you learned to come when he calls.” With every word, every accusation she gets closer to him, her knee presses between his legs and hands traces his chest and her lips hover just above his ear.

“Jisu,” he whimpers and he hates the tears in his eyes. “It’s not like that, we’re worried about you,” he tries to keep his voice even, he doesn’t want to egg her on. “This morning jus-just happened and that’s not about you. But we—”

“How can it not be about me?” She pushes him against the door pressing her knee firmer between his thighs as he practically climbs the door to try to get away from her. “It’s about him always him and what he’s doing and what he wants and he always gets what he wants.”

She takes him by the chin and he tries not to recoil but it’s so similar to the way Saeran had grabbed him before she’d gotten back that he can’t help it.

“Like everything was so much easier for me,” she says, more to herself than to him. “Like he even has any idea. And _you_ ,” she growls her eyes focusing again and he can feel her tongue brush his ear as she wets her lips. “You said _maybe_ ,” she whines, “ _you said if I got better_ , we could try again.”

He can feel the brush of her breath against the side of his face, this mirror of something that might have been erotic but he was frightened, tears flowing freely and the contacts he’d put back in before Saeran woke up felt wrong in his eyes, blurring his vision enough he might as well not have them in. 

“I’m s-sorry,” he manages, “I meant it wh-when I said it but I didn’t expect—”

“You’re a liar, Yoosung Kim,” she says her voice raising for the first time. “You lie to everyone, and you especially lie to yourself.”

The door opens out and he tumbles into Saeyoung’s arms, he doesn’t know how she’s standing there, looking so calm, looking like nothing had happened but an argument. His heart is pounding in his chest and he picks himself up, even Saeyoung’s hands keeping him from falling felt wrong after the way Jisu had held him against the door. 

He mumbles some half hearted apology and bolts for the bathroom, locking the door and collapsing against the counter. He presses the palms of his hands into his closed eyes as he tries to control his breathing, tries to stop himself from sobbing in the Choi’s bathroom. He wants nothing more than to find Saeran and fall into his arms but he’s terrified that even Saeran’s touch would feel alien in this moment. 

When he pulls his hands away one of the contacts falls out, he fumbles, catching it as it sticks to his neck and holds it pinched between his fingers while he feels around for the little pot Saeran had given him the night before. He takes them out, he doesn’t have the fight left in him for even trying to put contacts back in. Everything was fuzzy around the edges but it wasn’t as though he needed to see clearly right now anyway.

He leans against the cold tile wall and lets himself slide to the floor, lets the quiet controlled sobs pass through him. He tries to decide if the things she said were worse than the way she forced him against the door, or worse than how little emotion he’d seen behind her big black eyes.

“Let me know when you want to go home,” Saeyoung says through the door. “I can take you whenever Yoosung, sorry.”

He makes some sound of acknowledgement, strangled and wet, and pushes himself back up to stand. He washes his face with cold water and fidgets with the contact case as he does his best to walk calmly through the bunker looking for Saeran.

He sees him sitting outside on the picnic table with the guitar his brother had brought to Yoosung’s apartment. He’s playing something familiar that Yoosung can’t place and when Saeran glances at him his lips quirk up in the smallest of smiles. Yoosung can feel a portion of his anxiety simply slip away with that small look.

He slips up onto the table and rests his back against Saeran’s, he means to stay that way, not disturb him while he plays, not risk that she’d ruined even that small touch for him, but when his back presses against Saeran’s all he wants is to have his arms wrapped around him. He wants Saeran to set the guitar aside and pull him into his arms, to comb his fingers though his hair while Yoosung’s arms wrap themselves around his waist.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s moved, that he’s turned and climbed across the table to wrap his arms around Saeran’s middle and press his forehead into his shoulder. Not until Saeran chuckles softly and he hears the deep clang of the guitar clattering against the table. And Saeran does turn, her does pull Yoosung into his arms and he presses kissing to his brow before running fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Saeran whispers, “I’m so fucking sorry I made you do that alone.”

Yoosung shakes his head, another soft sob shudders though his chest and he feels Saeran’s arms tighten, “I-I’m glad you weren’t there,” he manages, his voice thicker than he’d like. “She, she wasn’t, it was bad, I think it was good you weren’t there.”

“Yoosung I should have, I’m sorry I fuck—I should have just asked you to give me a few minutes and we could have done that together.” Saeran presses his face into Yoosung’s hair and he thinks he feels him sniffle.

“Saeran,” Yoosung says softly, hating that he’s asking this now but he has to know, “are we—Am I your _boyfriend_?”

“I don’t, do you _want_ to be?” Saeran asks and Yoosung feels a little better for the nerves he hears in Saeran’s voice.

“I think so,” Yoosung says. 

“I think, uh, I think that means we should go on a date.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a warning this is a rough chapter. There is panic attacks, refrences to past sexual abuse and attempted rape/sexual assault

Jisu didn’t speak to him, she barely came out of Saeyoung’s room aside from when he called her out to eat and asked her to sit at the table. She’d sat across from him, sullen, and he could feel old habits creeping back. The two of them in Savior’s little living space, sitting at a table pretending to be a family. V on the end with his empty plate and her across from him glaring.

He opens his mouth to speak more than once but he can’t come up with anything that would make today any better for her. Who was he to spit accusations at her anyway? Yoosung had been so shaken up when he’d come outside. He wonders what passed between them but it feels wrong to ask.

Yoosung would tell him if he wanted him to know, and knowing Jisu she would tell him if she thought she could get a reaction from him. As soon as she finishes she stands and sets her plate in the sink heavy enough that they both cringe. She comes out a few times through the evening to glare at him from the hallway. Her eyes are sunken and her skin is pallid and he remembers when she’d been everything warm in his life.

What’s worse than her glare, and worse than his guilt, is the fact that Yoosung hasn’t spoken to him since he’d said goodbye that afternoon. Not only that but he hasn’t been in the messenger, not even a single emoticon, none of his messages have even been marked as read. It worries him, and he can’t bring himself to call for fear that his new boyfriend won’t pick up the phone.

So he drags his electric guitar and amp out of his closet and plugs in, headphones on in a corner out of view of the hallway. If she wanted to glare at him, if she meant to intimidate him she would have to come out of her cave and face him.

She doesn’t. It’s Saeyoung that stands in front of him at some ridiculously early morning hour, his fingers aching, skin split in places, at least one of them bleeding. It’s Saeyoung that pulls the headphones off his head and sets the guitar aside.

“She’s asleep, you can come back to earth now,” he says, voice groggy. “I uh, I took a nap in your room. Thought you’d wake me up I don’t know if I should be mad or thank you.”

“Uh huh,” Saeran doesn’t have much socializing in him at this moment. He knows his brother is trying to get him to say something but he can’t be arsed to figure it out.

“Did you talk to Yoosung?” He says after an awkward silence.

Saeran shrugs. “Not since he left. I don’t, do you know what they talked about?”

Saeyoung drops his head, “I don’t but there were raised voices and I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have interfered but Yoosung looked fucking grateful I opened the door.”

“He didn’t say, just that it was _bad_.” Saeran frowns.

He watches his brother consider his words for a minute, almost deciding to keep it to himself. “He tried to hide it but he cried the whole way to his place,” he says finally and Saeran wishes he hadn’t.

“Fuck,” he groans. ‘I fucked everything up.”

“I mean,” Saeyoung chuckles, “you could have picked a better time to kiss him but I wouldn’t say you fucked up that bad.”

He groans. “I uh, Yoosung kissed me.” His brother raises his eyebrows at him. “L-last night, I uh, I was surprised too.”

“That’s good though,” his brother says softly, with more weight to the words than his normal inflection, “I mean that’s gotta help when you’re beating yourself up right?”

Saeran shrugs but it works, a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he watches his brother loosen up a little.

“So what now?” Saeyoung chuckles, “Wedding bells?”

“Ugh, he uh we’re going to go on a date, I told him he could call me his boyfriend.”

His brother squeals and then covers his mouth and glances towards the hall. They both let out a relieved chuckle and Saeran lets his brother usher him off to bed. Saeyoung tells him V was by briefly while he’d been playing and that he’s to take Jisu to an early NA meeting. “You can take the Sedan, I trust you ok?”

It’s huge really, for his brother to trust him driving one of his cars. Saeran technically isn’t even supposed to have his license back yet but Saeyoung had pulled some of his magic and he could, at his brother’s discretion, legally drive. Usually he drove while his brother worked in the passenger seat, or napped if he’d been up all night. “Thanks,” he manages.

“You want me tuck you in?” He winks while they stand by the door, “read you a story?”

“Fuck off,” he snorts.

Early for Saeyoung was just after noon, so Saeran sets his alarm and sends a short text to Yoosung. Simple, just a few words to remind him that he’s here, and he’s thinking of him. Despite the radio silence Saeran holds onto his phone for a few minutes, watching the message. He doesn’t expect a response really. As far as he’s concerned Yoosung has either gone home and drank until he passed out or is fully immersed in rage gaming. The best he hopes for is to get the little message that Yoosung has seen it.

He’s just setting his phone beside his bed when he hears Yoosung’s text tone.

[Yoosung Kim]: Srry nedded tme, call u tomroow  
[Yoosung Kim]: Sry typng oehanddd  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: Don’t call too early  
[Yoosung Kim]: hv u net me/?

Saeran chuckles, feeling lighter, relieved that Yoosung was gaming instead of the alternative. He falls asleep smiling that in some twist of fate his dreams had managed to come true in some way. He thinks about how Yoosung probably ordered a pizza and ate the whole thing, the way he’s probably not playing his guild character if he’s mad, probably playing one of his alts so he could shout and rage without it reflecting poorly on his guild, without having to feel guilty about not helping newbies out like he normally would.

He falls asleep thinking about what a cute fucking nerd his boyfriend is.

As he drifts out of sleep he thinks he must still be dreaming, the weight across his hips is so real, the hands on his chest and the mouth trailing kisses along his throat too sweet. It’s been so long since he dreamed about Yoosung. His hands drift up, ghosting over a hip, tracing the waistband of flannel pants, he can smell Yoosung in the clothed shoulder he nips at. 

He could get used to dreams like this, he thinks, used to the reality this lends to. Hair brushes his face in the dark as lips crash against his. His hands push under the shirt as hips grind against his and then—

The moan is _wrong_  and then his hand meets a breast and he finds himself letting out a strangled sound as he shoves at the body on top of him, scrambles out of his bed, trying to find a light, his glasses, his pills, too many things as that familiar weight crushes down on him and he can hear her laughing.

He breathes in deep through his nose and counts to ten, breathes out through his mouth and finds the chords to the first song he’d played for Yoosung, he recites them under his breath as he breathes in and out slowly. Feeling along the wall for a light, not looking at the giggling mass in the middle of his bed as he feels around his dresser for his glasses, looking only where he needs to while he searches the drawer beside his bed for his pills.

“You can’t do that Jisu,” he tries to say it softly, but it’s rough, breathing still feels unnatural and talking feels like it takes every ounce of air in his lungs.

She continues to giggle softly from his bed while he swallows the pill in his hand.

“Whatever you’re going through,” he tries again when she finally looks at him, “you can’t fall back on the fucked up shit she did to us or—” he trails off as she brings the tshirt she’s wearing up to her nose and inhales deeply.

“Still smells like him,” she muses, wearing the pajama’s Yoosung had borrowed the night before and most of the day. “That’s why I put them on at first, I missed him,” she pouts when she narrows her eyes on him but shrugs when he manages to not react. “Then I remembered the fun we used to have and I thought,” she smirks.

“Fun you used to have,” he says quietly. “That wasn’t fun for me Jisu, it was survival, we all had to do what she wanted us to.”

She looks hurt then, those afternoons when Rika had instructed them to <i>play</i> had been awful for him, he’d never considered that she might have enjoyed herself, that she might have asked for him. At first it had been awful because he’d thought of Jisu as family, as a little sister, but he’d suffered for trying to express that. Savior’s wrath was worse than steeling himself and following orders. 

Later it had been awful for other reasons, in times when he could pick his own rewards he learned plenty about himself, largely being that he had no interest in women. It had never stopped Savior’s gifts, and he’d only had to refuse a few before he’d learned it was better to do what she wanted. The gifts were never about him anyway.

She throws her arms out and twists to fall on her back towards him, looking up at him with her hair splayed out on his rumpled bedding, “Don’t you miss it even a little bit,” she whispers.

Her smile is wide and her pupils are blown and he groans. “Jisu what did you take?”

“Nothing,” she sings, “just an extra one or two or whatever these are.” She shakes a bottle slowly at him and he snatches it out of her hands. It’s prescribed to her, a single pill once a day, he sighs. He’d been on this briefly but it had made everything worse.

“Where are the rest of your pills Jisu?” He asks but she just giggles, reaching out over her head to grab him by the hand and pull him back to the bed.

He loses his balance and stumbles down beside her.

“Finally,” she sighs, rolling over and throwing a leg over him, “I knew you’d change your mind, you always did.”

She palms him through his pants as he pushes himself up to throw her off. “Jisu,” he growls, he knows he should grab his phone, call for his brother, hit that little button on his lock screen that Saeyoung had made for emergencies.

But part of him doesn’t want Saeyoung to see her like this. None of them ever had, not like this. Not so close to being Savior’s little Peach again. Sure they all knew she was going through something right now but if he could talk her out of this maybe she could preserve some of the dignity he’d never been afforded.

He watches her tumble to the floor, it almost looks like slow motion as he scrambles further from her on the bed. She pops up like a junkie jack in the box and reaches out for him as she climbs back on the bed. “Please,” she whispers, black eyes bitter, nose crinkle, lip curled. “I bet he doesn’t know you’ve fucked me. We could tell him, we could _share_  him.”

He manages to get hold of his phone before she straddles his legs and presses him against the wall. “Jisu, we’re not those people anymore, fucking stop,” he shoves at her but she doesn’t budge.

“You _l_ _ove_  him so fucking much, what are you going to do when he fucks you like I used to,” she snorts. 

The pill he’d taken has barely kicked in but he’s not sure it’s enough, not sure if he’d managed to hit the alarm on his phone before she knocked it away from him, not sure how much longer he can fight this panic attack.

Not sure what she’ll do once he’s vulnerable.

“Come on Jagi,” she growls pressing her teeth to his jaw, “hold me through the storm.” She grinds her hips against him and he tries weakly to push her away as she shoves at his pants.

“That is e-fucking-nough,” he hears his brother bellow. A tone he’s never heard from Saeyoung, he feels like he can’t get enough air but his brother is pulling Jisu off of him as she cackles.

“He _loves_  this,” she whines as he tries to slow his breathing. “It’s his _favorite_  game,” she’s screaming as Saeyoung drags her out of the room.

He clambers over the foot of his bed and wedges himself beneath his desk, it’s small and tight and feels safe here, it feels like he can breathe here. He inhales deep through his nose and tries to hum through the tremors, what was the song from the bar, could he remember how it went, could he try to bring up the chords. Could he tap out the percussion with his fingers.  
Yoosung’s hand out as they ricocheted off the other people on the dance floor, Yoosung’s laugh as they collided. Yoosung’s hand never letting go of his. He can’t remember the song at all in his panic but those things, those moments are clear as a bell.

Long fingers on his arms, he fights for a moment before he can focus on his brother’s black and yellow sweater pulling him out from under the desk. “I didn’t know,” his brother whispers, and he can hear Saeyoung’s voice, thick with emotion as he let’s him pull him to the middle of the room, sitting on the floor with his arms and legs wrapped around him.

“I d-didn’t tell anyone,” Saeran mutters through his ragged breathing. Saeyoung’s chin rests on his head, another deep breath, the pill is working better now, if he could only breathe deeper.

“I didn’t think,” he says and then Saeran can hear his mouth snap shut and a sharp intake of breath through his nose, “Did V know? Did he ask me to let her stay here and <i>know</i> that Rika did that to you?”

Saeran swallows. There had been a time he would have eagerly agreed, first because he was so sure that V was guilty of everything that had happened, culpable, a willing observer. Then later simply to cause him pain, to make everyone question him, be leery of him. But now? He can only shrug. “I d-don’t,” he shakes his head and draws another deep ragged breath. 

“What did she _take_ ,” Saeyoung sighs, more to himself than Saeran but he finds himself letting out a rasping bitter laugh and pressing the pill bottle still clutched in his fist into his brother’s palm.

“Just a-a couple,” he says taking his first easy deep breath. “She, she didn’t overdose, don’t worry about that, b—”

“I am _not_  worried about her right now. Jesus Christ Saeran. I sent Jumin a text, as soon as you feel ready we can go over there, I don’t want you here with her like that. I’ll leave you the car and take the bus back.”

“I’d rather go to Yoosung’s,” he says, sore, tired but starting to feel more himself.

He can feel his brother’s head shaking behind him as he starts to relax his hold. “You know in an hour you’re going to want a shower or a bath, you’ve stayed at Jumin’s before.”  
Saeran swallows and starts to adjust himself, pull out of his brother’s arms and legs and turn to face him. He was right, shortly the adrenaline would wear off and everything would ache and he would want a hot shower. He nods instead of arguing.

“Do you want me to call Yoosung, see if he’ll talk to you now?”

Saeran shakes his head, still just taking the time to breathe freely.

“I won’t, you know, tell him what happened. I’ll just tell him you need to talk to him.” Saeyoung says, phone in his hand.

“No,” Saeran rasps, moving slowly to his feet, he needed water. “I, I talked to him before I fell asleep. Th-thank you.”

He nods. “Are you going to tell him,” Saeyoung asks carefully.

All Saeran can do is shrug. “Tell him what Saeyoung, I _can’t_  tell him anything as long as we agree to keep him in the dark,” he holds up a hand. “I don’t want to tell him what she did to us.”

“Tell him about Jisu then, just Jisu,” Saeyoung shrugs. “I know she’s sick but fuck it,” Saeyoung scowls. “It’s not like she’s given you any slack right?”

“Maybe,” Saeran says softly, “maybe if he asks.”

Saeyoung shakes his head.

“And you can’t take me to Jumin’s because you can’t leave her alone here, Saeyoung.”

“The door locks from the outside, it’s fine.”

Saeran rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t matter if she wants out. Had to teach her all my tricks.”

“God you’re a fucking delinquent,” Saeyoung groans.

“It’s fine,” Saeran shrugs, “I’m good, it’s ok, I can drive myself. I’ll come back and get her for her meeting tomorrow.”

Saeyoung shakes his head, “No, I’ll call V, I need to talk to him about this, I’ll ask Zen to—”

Saeran snorts, “Zen? What’s he going to say when people recognize him? I’ll take her.”

“I’ll drop her off,” Saeyoung says after a few moments go by. He hands Saeran a set of keys from his pocket. “You pick her up, maybe have Jumin or Jaehee with you if you can, I don’t want you alone with her.”

“I’ll be fucking fine,” he says turning to grab a few things.

He can hear his brother mumble _didn’t look fucking fine_ as he shuts his door behind him. He tosses his contacts and a change of clothing in a bag and pulls his acoustic guitar over his shoulder. His brother tosses him a bottle of water and little salute as he passes the kitchen. 

It’s been more than a year since he’d driven himself anywhere alone, unless he counted that time he tried to steal one of his brother’s cars while he was fucked up on something, but he hadn’t even made it out of the driveway before he’d hit something, so he didn’t. 

It’s nice being alone in the car, soothing almost, not like driving with someone next to him. The constant distraction of their body language making him wonder if he’d taken this turn too sharp, or if the light had turned and he missed it. The soft voice the car’s computer announces that his phone has connected to Bluetooth and he doesn’t think about it for a second.

“Call Yoosung.”

The line rings so long he starts to think Yoosung must finally have gone to sleep until there’s a click, and then silence. Saeran smiles to himself, wondering if maybe Yoosung had hit the phone in his sleep and then, “H-hello?”

“Hey sleeping beauty,” Saeran says, forgetting how rough he sounds right now.

Yoosung doesn’t miss a beat, “What’s wrong, are you ok? Are you going somewhere?”

“I’m OK,” he says, he feels good listening to Yoosung worry.

“What did she do?” He yawns but there’s an intensity to his voice that Saeran hasn’t heard before.

“It’s not a big deal Yoosung, I just wanted to hear your voice, I thought I’d get your voicemail.”

“Well you didn’t,” he can picture the way Yoosung would pout and cock his head to the side.

“Thank fuck,” Saeran laughs.

“Are you coming here?” There’s so much hope in that question that Saeran almost wants to. But then he tilts his head and his muscles beg for hot water and the 25 separate heads of Jumin Han’s elaborate shower.

“Ah, no. Jumin’s.”

“Oh,” Yoosung practically whines.

“Maybe tomorrow though? Saeyoung doesn’t want me to stay at the bunker until she goes and I’ve stayed at the penthouse before so—”

“Shower thing,” Yoosung yawns. “OK.”

“Mmm, you should go to sleep,” Saeran says, feeling his own yawn building. “Your yawns are fucking contagious and I’m driving.”

Yoosung forces another yawn, “You’re being mean,” he scolds but Saeran knows he’s smiling.

Saeran chuckles softly, he’s glad Yoosung picked up and not even a little guilty he woke him. Listening to him worry and scold him made him feel more relaxed after everything that had happened during the day. Made everything feel just a little normal.

There’s an awkward silence as Saeran’s laughter settles, and he can hear Yoosung inhale a few times before he says, “I, uh, I m-miss you.”

“So much,” Saeran says with complete honesty. Saeran is hard pressed to think of something he’s missed like he missed Yoosung today. Certainly not before, when the idea of having Yoosung to himself had seemed like a dream. But since the moment Yoosung had let go of his hand to get into his brother’s car there had been something missing, something off. Like everything in the house was moved slightly to the right.

He wanted nothing more than to sit next to him on his stupid saggy little couch, he didn’t even care what they were doing, he’d be content to simply thumb through his phone in the same room as Yoosung.

Instead, the line dies and he turns towards Jumin’s penthouse.

The guards lead him into the elevator and hand him a temporary keycard, he doesn’t knock when he gets to the door, just unlocks it and slips in quietly, he’s expecting an empty room, maybe Jumin’s fluffy white cat padding softly across the floor to greet him, instead the lights are on. Jumin is standing at the kitchen island in a pair of cotton sleep pants and a tshirt with a glass of wine, V is sitting on a stool across from him frowning into a cup of tea. 

“I didn’t know,” V says softly.

“Don’t fucking worry about it,” he grunts. “it’s not, it doesn’t matter.”

When V turns to look at him his eyes are rimmed in red and it’s all Saeran can do not to growl. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Saeran shakes his head. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you, it’s nothing. I’m fucking fine ok?”

“Saeran,” Jumin’s voice is low and calming. There’s always been something comforting about Jumin, even early on when he was restrained in a hospital bed and thought each and every one of them were his enemies, Jumin Han could shut him up with a few words. “Take your things to the guest room, you know where the rest room is, we can discuss this in the morning.”

Something about the look Jumin gives V is cold, it speaks of all the trust the other man has yet to earn back.

Jumin Han’s shower is the next best thing to kissing Yoosung Kim.

Surrounded by the constant pressure of multiple shower heads Saeran finds it difficult to slip back into the anxiety. He lets the probably too hot water wash over him and simply stands there, his mind doesn’t wander. He simply breathes in the steam and lets his tense muscles relax.

He’s dead on his feet by the time he falls into the guest bed at Jumin’s penthouse, leaving the door not quite latched just in case Elizabeth wanted in. He hated the sound of her yowling on the other side of the door, and it’s not long before he feels her curl up on his hip. Her soft purring lulling him further into sleep.

“Good morning,” Jumin says over a cup of coffee, “did you sleep well?”

It’s at least noon and Saeran knows from the perfectly pressed suit and careful way he’s being watched that Jumin Han is only waiting. Probably asked to wait and assess the head case, make certain Saeran wasn’t going to do something stupid if he was left alone. He wonders if those orders came from V or Saeyoung.

Saeran shrugs, he knows if he open’s Jumin’s fridge it will be mostly empty, only a few of Saeran’s favorite energy drinks and whatever Jumin thinks he should eat for breakfast. He’d wager money on Yogurt and fruit. “I’m fine,” he tells Jumin Han and his impassive face. “I’ll pick Jisu up from her meeting and then I’m going to Yoosung’s.” He doesn’t miss the slight tilt to Jumin’s cup in his hand, or the subtle twitch of his carefully arched brow. “Might not be back tonight.”

Jumin nods, “Should I have Assistant Kang meet you here then?”

He shakes his head, “No, Jaehee’s probably got work to do right?”

Jumin shrugs and sets his mug carefully in the sink. “Nothing that can’t be set aside for an hour.”

Saeran doesn’t expect the pat on the shoulder as Jumin moves past him, he jumps a little and then tries to play it off, like he slipped leaning against the kitchen island. “I know what my brother said,” Saeran says looking directly into Jumin’s grey eyes, “but it’s fine.”

Jumin shrugs. “If he asks I will tell him you were persuasive.”

Saeran watches Jumin leave before he opens the fridge. He’s exactly right about what’s in there. Yogurt, pineapple and strawberries sit next to a few energy drinks and he takes them both. Checking the time on his phone. Despite last night he’s still awake before the alarm he’d set. He wonders if Yoosung will remember to call him or if he should call Yoosung instead.

He doesn’t have to wonder long when his phone vibrates.

[Yoosung Kim]: You up?  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: No  
[Yoosung Kim]: You’re the worst

Saeran chuckles as his phone rings, “You still _like_  me though,” he teases.

“I don’t know why,” Yoosung whines, “you’re a huge jerk.”

“Alright nerd, what do you want?”

“Are you still at Jumin’s?”

“Yeah,” Saeran considers how much he’s willing to tell Yoosung over the phone. “Gotta pick Jisu up in a bit and take her back to the bunker, then I’m going to come over if that’s ok?”

“R-really?” Yoosung stammers through his obvious excitement. 

“I’m supposed to take you on a date right,” Saeran starts, “and my brother let me use his car, I thought—”

“Yeah!” Yoosung squeaks, “Y-yeah, that sounds, yes.”

Saeran can picture him covering his face, his cheeks reddening as he glances down at his feet. They chat over breakfast, Saeran’s carefully crafted by Jumin’s chef with optimal nutrition, Yoosung’s purchased for sugar content and the character on the box. They discus what they might do, when Saeran would show up and what he should bring with.

He’s almost relieved he’s gotten through it until he starts to say his goodbyes and Yoosung clears his throat. 

“Are you uh, going to be ok alone with her?” There’s something about the way he asks that <i>hurts<i/>.

“Yeah I think so,” Saeran mumbles. 

“Do you want me to come with?” Yoosung asks, but he sounds like he’d rather do anything else.

“I uh, don’t think that would be a good idea,” Saeran says quietly. “If I’m lucky she won’t talk to me.”

“What if you aren’t” Yoosung whispers.

“I knock her the fuck out and carry her into the bunker like a bag of oranges,” Saeran snorts, hoping his bad joke will make his worried boyfriend laugh.

It works, they say their goodbyes as he steps into the elevator, awkwardly skirting the L word, he can hear the way Yoosung fights saying it out of habit and he considers for a moment saying it first, to ease his mind. It seems so obvious to him, even with everything as new as it is. It’s really only his own nerves, there was never a question of whether or not he loved Yoosung Kim.

They don’t say it, opt for more _I miss yous_.

Saeran slips behind the wheel of his brother’s car and sets the navigation on his phone to the address that V had given him for the meeting. He slips inside, haunting the doorway and watching the people, he recognizes a few from his time in rehab and slides his hood up over his head.

He can see Jisu, sitting in the middle of the chairs, her head down. He can see that she’s probably on her phone, doing her best to tune out the emotional stories of the regular attendees.

When the meeting is dismissed she stands and turns, ducking her head when their eyes meet. He can feel the way the vice on his chest tightens but he’d already taken a xanax just in case when he’d taken his pills with breakfast.

He’s thankful for the embarrassed look on her face. He’s not so far out from his last breakdown that he doesn’t remember how out of control he felt. How little impulse control he had. The feeling of screaming at yourself to stop while you do or say something terrible. Didn’t mean he trusted her though.

He nods and he holds out the keys in his pocket so she knows no one else is coming. He knows his brother will probably give him shit for coming alone but it felt like he needed to. He needed to prove a point to her. That _he_  wasn’t that person anymore. That she didn’t have to be either. 

She’s quiet as she follows him to the car, he knows her though, he knows it won’t last. He wonders which Jisu he’ll be driving home. Exactly how severe the shifts in her personality are.

Will she be quiet apologetic Jisu, sheading a few tears and not meeting his eye. Or would she be the Peach, biting word, eye-rolls and excuses with that sweet smile drawn across her lips.

“You wear those stupid glasses like they’re some kind of shield,” she grunts shutting the door behind her.

“I wear them because I can’t see without them,” he says not looking at her directly.

She’s nonchalant strapping on her seat belt, purposely not looking at him with that sweet smile on her face. “Mmhmm, you keep your pretty green eyes in your pocket though,” she sings.

He keeps his face impassive, she’s right but she doesn’t know that, she’s picking. They were a safety net, after his second breakdown. Something so that he didn’t see his brother in the mirror. They weren’t his _Mint Eyes_ anymore, they were just a thing that kept him separate from Saeyoung on a bad day. “Just kind of dehydrated from fucking your boyfriend,” he snorts and her smile turns to a sneer.

When he knew she was coming, Saeran could handle the Peach.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Blackprose for reading this over, and helping me come up with what the boys eat on their date and assuring me I didn't embarrass myself with this one (think she might be lying but she's convincing at least).

Jisu cried the entire drive back to the bunker. First big dramatic crocodile tears, fat round things that rolled off her nose like a sad princess in a children’s cartoon. When it became clear that he wouldn’t let her manipulate him she sat back, head lulled against the window. That’s when the real tears fell.

He watched the subtle shake of her shoulders as she suppressed real honest sobs and he felt  _guilty_ . He shouldn’t have said that, he shouldn’t have lied to her. There were other ways he could have shut her up but after the look on Yoosung’s face yesterday he wanted to hurt her. He couldn’t give two shits what she did or said to him but Yoosung didn’t deserve to face the Peach.

She stares at him over the roof of the car in Saeyoung’s garage, all soft sullen eyes and he glares back. “You’ve gotta let the fucking Peach go, Jisu, I don’t give a shit how scared you are.”

It’s the last thing he’ll say to her before she leaves for rehab.

“Is Jumin waiting in the car?”

Saeran can tell by the stiff way Saeyoung holds his shoulders that he knows the answer, and he’s fucking pissed.

“Don’t fucking worry about it.”

“Are you punishing me for telling V what happened?” Saeyoung growls at him.

“Jesus fucking shit Saeyoung, it’s fine. She wants to hurt people not fucking die.” He pushes past his brother ignoring whatever argument he had to go to his room, pack a few more things and try to think about exactly what kind of date he might take Yoosung on.

He considers what he knows about Yoosung, there’s a video game bar in town he’d probably like. Though Yoosung had trouble remembering his limits and he’d hate for Yoosung to get drunk accidentally, he’d feel so guilty, probably whine that he ruined the date even though Saeran kind of enjoyed drunk-Yoosung.

He liked Romance movies, but going to the theater made Saeran too nervous still. Sometimes if it was empty enough he could enjoy himself but mostly he found himself on edge, too focused on his own anxiety to enjoy the film he’d paid to watch. Too much sound, and too many people and it all crushed down on him.

He liked to cook, Saeran thinks, and he’d been surprised that Saeran could cook. He starts to form a plan, staring at the box of things he’d brought back from rehab.

Yoosung doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t know if he should change his clothes or do something with his hair. He stares at his reflection in the computer monitor, should he at least put in his contacts, would Saeran be wearing his or—

He was flustered, he stares at the character select screen and wonders exactly how long he has. What would they do, what did Saeran like to do? Yoosung isn’t exactly sure. Saeran had always let him dominate their time. They played the games that Yoosung liked, they watched the shows and films that Yoosung wanted to watch, they mostly even ate what Yoosung wanted to eat.

Yoosung knew Saeran liked scary movies, and spicy food, he suspected that he liked music, and he drew so maybe he liked art. God, he wasn’t doing well.

Yoosung knew Saeran smelled like sweet cream, that his hands were cold but he radiated heat like a furnace in the middle of the night, and he blushed when Yoosung called him cute.

He knows that Saeran likes the way he kissed him.

Yoosung shuts LOLOL down and rolls his shoulders. He decides to take a shower but he can’t stop thinking about Saeran, about the way his hands had felt, about the way his mouth had felt. Yoosung wonders if that morning had gone differently where that kiss would have lead.

Would Saeran ask him what he wants to do or would he plan something? If he planned something would it be something Saeran enjoyed or something Yoosung enjoyed? Would there be more kissing?

Yoosung had imagined that kiss so many times since he’d gotten home, something good to blot out the stain of Jisu in that room. Something sweet to balance the sour thoughts of whatever she might have done to Saeran that Saeyoung didn’t even want them in the same house.

Yoosung imagines the kiss while he showers, the tug of his fingers while he washes his hair bringing it vividly back to him. Yoosung hasn’t been on many dates, but he’s watched a lot of romance movies, he wonders if Saeran has any _rules_ , if they kiss tonight like they’d kissed in his bedroom would he let it go any farther.

He’s alone, in his shower, and he still blushes to think that he hopes so.

His hand lingers on his belly as he finishes, and he absently considers someone telling him it was always a good idea to _rub one out_ before a date. He gets stuck at first, on who told him that. Zen maybe, but then again Seven used to give him bad advice from the Playboys Handbook all the time.

His hand dips lower, it doesn’t matter who said it. He wonders how Saeran will touch him as he takes himself in hand. The way he’d grabbed him the morning before had been rough but was that just bravado? He’s barely started when his phone goes off with someone buzzing his door to get into the building.

He sighs, this was the opposite of what he’d been trying to do.

He knows it’s Saeran without answering, he can see the other notifications as he unlocks his phone so he buzzes him up without answering and glances at the time. Saeran would take the stairs and Yoosung considers himself an expert at masturbating, though he’d never utter that thought out loud. Did he want to risk it?

He doesn’t, he decides, expert or no he’s too nervous. He’d die if Saeran caught him. _Well maybe not die_.

He’s glad he chose not to because Saeran is already knocking at the door as he wraps a towel around his waist. “Just a minute,” he yells.

“Open the door Yoosung these bags are fucking heavy,” Saeran whines.

 _Bags_? “Uh, yeah, ok.” He maybe drags his feet a little as he crosses the apartment wearing nothing but a towel but, _heavy bags_ , what could Saeran possibly have bought?

He’s blushing furiously when he opens the door and Saeran looks frustrated for a fraction of a second before he really notices Yoosung in front of him. The frown on his face is replaced with what Yoosung refers to as the signature Choi grin. That lopsided look that both Saeran and Saeyoung get just before they’re about to tease someone. Usually him.

“Hmm,” Saeran hums as Yoosung reaches for a few bags to ease his load, the lopsided grin never leaving his face. “I’m suddenly feeling much less guilty about not planning to take you somewhere on this date.”

“O-oh?” he stammers setting the bag on the counter and grabbing his towel just before it falls down.

“Yeah,” Saeran chuckles and something about the way he looks at Yoosung has him feeling _warm_. “I really prefer the dress code here.”

Yoosung blushes. “Shut up.”

Saeran continues to smirk . “Well,” Saeran looks around and reaches for the hem of his shirt, “got one of those for me cutie? I’m feeling overdressed.”

Yoosung shoves him. “Geeze I was in the shower.”

Saeran lets go of his shirt and fakes a pout before shrugging, “Kind of figured dummy.”

Yoosung is just turning to go to his room and get dressed when it hits him. He frowns at Saeran for a minute and then smiles, teasing forgotten, “You cut your hair?”

The slight pink to Saeran’s cheeks doesn’t escape him. He nods and rubs at the back of his neck, “I uh, I’ve been meaning to for a while so I thought,” he clears his throat, “you know? This was a good excuse maybe.”

It’s Yoosung’s turn to look smug, “It’s cute,” he chirps turning on his heal, satisfied with the deep crimson blush creeping up his boyfriend’s neck.

Saeran’s palms are sweating, his mouth feels dry and his cheeks are hot as he watches Yoosung scurry away. And he does scurry, just as surly as Saeran had stammered and lost his nerve part way through teasing his mostly naked boyfriend.

 _God_ , Saeran groans silently, raking his palms down his face before he starts unpacking the groceries he’d bought. What was Yoosung trying to do to him, answering the door in just a towel. Saeran had teased, but if Yoosung had have played along? Saeran can’t even think about how different this _date_ might have started.

He doesn’t know if he’s thankful his boyfriend is such a nervous fucking dork, or if he’s pissed because that makes the sight of him blushing in nothing but a towel, wet hair swept back out of his face, even hotter.

 _Yeah think of something else asshole_ , he thinks to himself.

“Hey,” Yoosung says with a huge grin on his face when Saeran jumps a little. Lost in his own thoughts, or fantasies, or—

He can’t help but smile back, “Hey.”

“So,” Yoosung starts and stops. Runs a hand through his hair and Saeran tries his very best not to notice the way his tshirt pulls up a little at the motion.

He had plans, god dammit, and they were going to get through those first. Yoosung might not even be _ready_ to do anything more than kiss. Yoosung had never even been with a man before, and Saeran was not going to ruin this by rushing him. He wasn’t going to—

Yoosung pulls him away from the little counter turning him by the shoulders and then slipping his arms around Saeran’s neck to pull him close. Yoosung’s lips cover his, his tongue pushing between Saeran’s lips, exploring his mouth before languidly stroking at his tongue. It’s forceful and desperate and as much as Saeran wants to wait, wants to stop this.

Wants to draw it out and make it perfect, he finds his hands trailing down Yoosung’s back. Drawn to the perfectly round cheeks of Yoosung’s perfect fucking ass. He groans as Yoosung presses against him, hips rolling just slightly into his own before breaking the kiss and giving him a lazy smile.

Saeran can’t believe someone who kissed him like that could still be a blushing mess but Yoosung manages it and here he is, pupils blown wide, panting and ready to do absolutely anything Yoosung wants him to.

“So, you’re going to c-cook for me?” Yoosung stammers, cheeks getting even redder. Saeran can’t believe that after that kiss Yoosung has any blood left to rush to his cheeks, and yet?

“I thought we’d do it toge—Cook! I thought we’d cook together,” they both glance away from one another, he has to catch his breath, he has to get his shit together but he can’t decide which is hotter. Yoosung blushing and stammering, refusing to meet his eyes, or Yoosung forceful and needy, pushing him against the counter and— _Calm the fuck down_.

“I’m sorry,” Yoosung says with a small smile as he slips his hand into Saeran’s and looks through the groceries on the counter. “I just, I really wanted to do that, like s-since I got home yesterday.”

“Me too,” Saeran says, and _Jesus Christ is he blushing_? _Dammit, you’re supposed to be the cool one_ , he scolds himself. He starts to distract himself by gathering the few things Yoosung keeps in the open that he needs, cutting boards, knives, he knows where the bowls are, but then he has to start asking for things, “Where’s your rice cooker?” he asks and Yoosung smiles, lets go of his hand and starts to dig out the rice cooker and the few other things Saeran has to ask for.

He bought most of the ingredients but there were things he knew Yoosung already had, like skewers and scallions, and spices.

“What are _we_ making?” Yoosung asks when Saeran has everything laid out.

“Sushi and Yakitori,” Saeran grins, “but it’s still kind of early and the rice will need to cool down so I brought a movie to kill some time.”

Saeran is blushing, he’s blushing more than Yoosung can ever remember him blushing in the entire year they’d known one another. He considers pulling Saeran into another heated kiss just to keep him blushing but—Now Yoosung is blushing.

Saeran looks so excited as he turns on the rice maker and starts cutting the vegetables in front of him but Yoosung looks around and, “I don’t see any fish?” it comes out like a question. There was chicken, and Saeran had gotten the scallions from Yoosung’s fridge, he saw Avocado, and peppers, and cucumber and even a few vegetables he didn’t recognize but he didn’t see any salmon, or tuna, or even shrimp.

“I uh, I didn’t buy any,” Saeran says with a nervous smile that makes Yoosung’s heart flutter. “I don’t—”

“You don’t _like fish_ ,” Yoosung says and gives himself a small smack on the forehead. “I should have known.”

Saeran purses his lips and shrugs his shoulders, “I guess you’ve known Saeyoung for a really long time.”

Yoosung laughs, “Is this another twin thing?”

“Fuck off,” Saeran grunts. But it’s playful, he didn’t really mind being compared to his twin anymore, the faces and growls were mostly for show. “You don’t mind Veggie Sushi right?” Saeran asks concerned.

Yoosung shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

“Saeyoung takes me to this restaurant sometimes,” Saeran says softly as he pushes the package of chicken towards Yoosung. “Could you cube that? It’s really expensive but the Yakitori is really good so we brought some home the last time and I figured out how they make it.”

Yoosung pauses mid slice to stare at his boyfriend. “You what? You just _figured it out_?”

Saeran shrugs. “Yeah, you like to cook, you do that right?”

Yoosung laughs so hard he has to put the knife down for a minute. “I, uh-ha, no. I call my mom a lot, like a lot a lot, whenever I try a new recipe. I don’t even know where to start figuring out how to make something from a restaurant from _scratch_.”

Saeran goes one more shade of red and shoves Yoosung a little. “God you’re a loser.”

Yoosung loves it, he loves the warm way he says it, even if the words would be mean from anyone else. He’s quickly coming to learn that the more nervous Saeran gets the more derogatory his terms of endearment get. He presses a quick kiss to Saeran’s shoulder to show his appreciation. It’s the best he can do with raw chicken all over his hands.

By the time he’s finished helping Saeran cut up their ingredients and set the chicken to marinade the rice cooker has popped and Saeran is spooning the rice into a bowl and spreading out, he throws a hand towel over the bowl and set is to the side and wraps his arms around Yoosung.

“So while we wait,” he says, chewing his lip and glancing to the side, “god this is fucking embarrassing, you have to promise you won’t tell Saeyoung or Zen ok?”

Yoosung has never seen Saeran like this, even when he’s confessing something he’s embarrassed about he usually has this general air of aloofness about him, as if he’s so passed caring that he’s only embarrassed on principal. Right now, his red cheeks are the reddest Yoosung has ever seen and he’s nervously chewing his lip while he holds Yoosung in some kind of grapple hug.

Yoosung nods slowly. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Saeran winks. “Good because your life depends on this secret.”

He pulls him close and lingers for just a second longer than a normal hug, his hand pressed firm to Yoosungs lower back before he lets go and starts to rummage through the gym bag he’d brought with.

“Are you staying over?” Yoosung asks, noticing it for the first time. He can’t help the goofy grin on his face when he considers what Saeran bringing an over night bag might promise.

“Well,” Saeran shrugs, but there’s none of the teasing Yoosung was expecting, “I left so fast last night I only grabbed a change of clothes,” he sighs and then smiles and Yoosung watches that lopsided grin cross his face again, “unless that’s an invitation?”

It’s Yoosung’s turn to blush. He’d been enjoying the role reversal. Usually he was the one so red people were concerned. It couldn’t last forever he considers. “O-only if you want to.”

At least Saeran was still pink.

“So,” he starts walking across the room to Yoosung’s second hand DVD player, “this is my favorite movie and if you tell _anyone_ I will _end_ you.”

“How bad can it be,” Yoosung smiles coming round to sit on the little sofa in his usual spot.

Saeran shrugs, “it’s not _bad_ it’s just, I have a reputation you know?”

“Yeah,” Yoosung snorts, “I get it, you’re hardcore.”

Saeran rolls his eyes and taps Yoosung’s shoulder urging him to move forward a bit and when he does, thinking Saeran just wanted to sit in the same spot he was, he’s rewarded. Saeran shimmies one leg out along the back of the small couch behind Yoosung and slides down behind him, his other leg thrown over Yoosung’s as he pulls him back to lay against his chest.

Yoosung is stiff at first, it takes him a minute as the movie runs through previews that Saeran purposely doesn’t skip trying to prolong the time before Yoosung realizes what exactly they’re sitting down to watch. Then one of Saeran’s hands slips around his waist and the other takes his hand, and he presses a soft kiss to Yoosung’s hair. He melts into him then, relaxing and letting himself be cuddled for the first time he can remember.

Who knew how nice it felt to be held once in a while?

Saeran’s fingers tracing nervous shapes into his palm, they tap and fidget with the fabric of his tshirt and the movie starts and Yoosung stifles a snort.

“God,” Saeran groans, “this was a bad fucking idea, I just thought you like romance movies and maybe this—”

“No, no, no,” Yoosung begs still trying not to laugh, “it’s not, it’s a good movie it just didn’t expect _you_ to like it.”

“Fuck off,” Saeran groans.

“It’s just—”

“ _Shut. Up_.”

“Moulin Rogue?” Yoosung chuckles.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Saeran groans shoving him.

“Are you sure I can’t tell Zen?”

“I fucking hate you,” Saeran sobs into his hair.

For a minute, and only a minute, Yoosung wishes he was the one holding Saeran. That he could hug him tight against his chest and run his fingers through his hair and press reassuring kisses to his neck. Then Saeran’s leg tightens around his, and Saeran pulls him tighter against him and buries his face in his neck for a minute.

Yoosung was going to get used to this.

Saeran gets up a few times during the movie, he stirs the rice and the chicken. He gets them drinks. Each time squeezing back in behind Yoosung, and pressing a kiss to his cheek, his neck, his shoulder. As the movie progresses Yoosung does his absolute best not to make a single noise or movement.

Saeran softly sings along with almost all the songs, whispering the words into his hair. Until the movie is almost over, and Toulouse falls from the ceiling and everyone is singing and Saeran suddenly stands and turns it off and walks into the kitchen.

“What a great movie,” he says pulling everything out of the fridge. “Love a happy ending right?”

Yoosung watches him from the couch, “It’s not over,” he says reaching for the remote but Saeran gives him a _look_ and he draws back his hand.

“It’s definitely over, Christian and Satine are together forever, everyone is happy. Except the Duke I guess but who cares, he was a piece of shit.”

“Saeran?” Yoosung smirks. “I’ve, you know, I’ve seen this before.”

“Uh huh,” Saeran’s eyes narrow on him.

“It’s just, I _know_ how it ends,” Yoosung is trying very hard not to laugh as he joins Saeran in the kitchen.

“What are you trying to say?” Saeran points a wooden spatula at him with a frown.

“Saeran we both know she d—”

He grabs Yoosung shutting him up with a kiss. Saeran doesn’t press his tongue into Yoosung’s open mouth so much as tease Yoosung’s tongue into his. His hands toy with the hem of his boyfriend’s shirt before slipping under and stroking up and down his back almost absently. It’s all lazy languid motions. None of the urgency of Yoosung’s earlier kiss.

Saeran’s eyes are half lidded, and his lips are wet and swollen, and a sliver of saliva still connects them when they separate. “ _God I love a happy ending_ ,” he says again, firmly, and Yoosung can’t think of a single reason to argue, _except_ maybe doing that again.

But he resists and follows Saeran’s lead as he starts to skewer the chicken and scallions. He blushes when Saeran compliments his kitchen supplies, and mumbles that it’s mostly gifts from his mother, that he almost never uses most of it as much as he likes to cook. But Saeran is making an impressed noise as he pulls a stovetop grill out from under the oven and places it over the burners.

Once the Yakitori is on the grill Saeran starts showing Yoosung how to roll the sushi. Yoosung mostly knows, and after the first few attempts he’s confident he has it down but he likes the way Saeran takes his hands while he explains, likes the way he smiles at him when he gets it right.

Saeran cleans as he goes, scolding Yoosung for the mess he makes as he rolls the vegetables into the rice and nori. He picks up the things Yoosung drops as soon as they hit the floor, and he washes up dishes as they dirty them, and Yoosung isn’t sure his kitchen has ever been this clean while he was actually using it.

The skewers are turned off and they’re almost done when Yoosung starts dropping things on the floor just to torment his boyfriend. Saeran groaning theatrically and calling him _dummy_. He’s just finishing the last roll, showing off a little after watching Saeran roll a couple inside out rolls, and he sweeps the excess sesame seeds onto the floor with an _oops_.

Saeran groans again, couches down and sweeps them into his hand, tucking them into the trash under the sink beside them. Yoosung waits for him to scold or tease him as he stands up but instead a hand runs up the inside of his leg. He can’t help the little yelp he makes.

“Hmm,” Saeran hums, that smug smile curling the corners of his mouth as Yoosung turns to look at him.

“Hmm wh-what,” Yoosung stammers, watching Saeran run his other hand up the inside of Yoosung’s other leg, dragging his thumbs up to Yoosung’s hips and looking up at him with _that look_.

Saeran rucks up the hem of his boyfriends shirt and places a series of kisses just above the waist of Yoosung’s jeans. He keeps smirking when Yoosung lets out a soft whimper and combs his fingers through Saeran’s hair. “Eager,” Searan says, voice husky and seductive.

Yoosung swallows and nods.

“Then you shouldn’t be such a fucking jerk,” Saeran snorts standing up.

He leaves Yoosung pressed up against the counter, eyebrows knit together, cheeks pink, staring at the spot between his feet where his boyfriend had been kneeling. Mouth working through too many thoughts at once to make a sound.

Saeran has the table set and the sushi sliced before Yoosung manages to form words. Well, one word.

“W-why?” Yoosung whines.

“Hmm?” He tries not to look too smug, tries not to hope every day with Yoosung will be like this forever.

He groans and shoves himself away from the counter. Saeran can see exactly the intent behind those focused lavender eyes and there’s a long moment where time slows and he imagines all the things he might let Yoosung Kim do to him, but then he holds out the plate of sushi in front of him like a shield, forcing it into Yoosung’s hands with a move he hopes mirrors the way Zen had dodged the drunk girl in the bar.

Saeran grabs the plate of Yakitori and tries his best to glide to the little table, he sets the plate down in the middle and takes a seat smiling at Yoosung, standing in the middle of his kitchen. He looks frustrated and confused and _fucking adorable_ , with his pout and his frown, holding the plate of sushi.

Were butler cafes a thing? Did they exist in Korea? Could he convince Yoosung to work at one?

Saeran watches him try to gather himself and wishes briefly that Yoosung shared his preference for more form fitting pants. “You’re the _worst_ ,” Yoosung mumbles, setting the sushi on the table and sitting across from him.

Saeran chuckles.

“You know I used to think you were nothing like Saeyoung,” Yoosung almost growls and Saeran drops his fork.

“You were pretty _close_ to my brother then?” It’s all bravado, but he does his best to look hurt and jealous and it works.

“N-no!” Yoosung yelps, “You’re just, you both, oh my god.”

Saeran laughs. “I’m just fucking with you. I don’t think my brother has a hard-on for anything that doesn’t speak fucking binary.”

Yoosung’s shoulders relax and he makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a snort and Saeran can’t believe he finds even that cute. They dig in. Unceremoniously heaping what anyone, other than two boys in their early twenties, would call entirely too much food onto their plates. He hated the noises his brother made when he ate but the appreciative yums Yoosung lets out do nothing but warm his heart.

“This is really good,” Yoosung says around a mouthful of chicken.

Saeran grins ear to ear, “We haven’t been back to that restaurant since I figured it out.”

They clean off the table together, put the left overs in Yoosung’s fridge, wash the dishes and Saeran has never been so happy being so damn domestic. He likes listening to Yoosung talk about how quickly summer break seems to be going by, and his guild’s latest accomplishment. He likes to hear him talk about how excited he is to start actually getting to work with animals next semester.

Yoosung excuses himself, tells Saeran to find something on TV to watch and Saeran teases him that he’s going to find a ghost hunting show. He listens to Yoosung whine as he disappears down the hall. He stretches out on the little couch waiting for Yoosung to join him, to cuddle up between his legs like he had during the movie.

Saeran has a few more thing’s planned for the evening, slow teasing things, to test his boyfriend’s interest. Considering the rest of their day together he’s optimistic about his chances.

Yoosung does settle in between Saeran’s thighs when he comes back, just not the way Saeran was expecting.

Yoosung knees down on the sunken couch facing him, his hand firmly on his thighs as he looks down on him biting his lip and smirking and it’s all Saeran can do not to groan with how hot that look is. Yoosung’s hands slide up his thighs, up under his shirt and he drags his soft thumbs along the dips and curves of Saeran’s abdomen. When the shirt is up over Saeran’s chest he lifts his arms, expecting Yoosung to pull it off of him but instead he pulls it just over his head, leaving him trapped there, watching his boyfriend’s silhouette through the dark fabric as he bends to flick a tongue over one nipple and then the other and Saeran arches his back too try to chase his mouth.

There’s the cluck of Yoosung’s, surely talented, tongue a moment before his mouth crashes against Saeran’s through the fabric of his shirt. He adjusts, wraps his legs around Yoosung’s waist to try to regain some control of the situation, the motion of it pressing their hips together and Yoosung’s buck just slightly as he moans into the damp fabric of his boyfriends shirt.

“Shit,” Saeran pants, rolling his hips experimentally and dragging another delightful moan from deep within Yoosung’s throat, “god your fucking cute.”

The shirt is pulled up and over his head, tossed somewhere behind Yoosung and then his mouth is on him again, tongue needy and desperate. Yoosung’s hands grab and stroke at Saeran’s skin and Saeran smirks rolling his hips, chasing that friction he needs and that low guttural sound that Yoosung makes.

Hands free Saeran drags Yoosung’s shirt up over his head and drops it to the floor beside them, he traces the soft curves of Yoosung’s body, drags his calloused fingers over Yoosung’s nipples earning himself a soft whimper into his neck. Saeran doesn’t even think before his hands drop to Yoosung’s jeans, popping the button and slipping them down over his hips without a second thought that Yoosung’s desperate touches had barely dipped lower than his navel.

He presses his hands inside Yoosung boxers and squeezes his ass, letting his fingernails sink into his boyfriends perfect round cheeks.

“O-oh my god,” Yoosung gasps dragging teeth and tongue down Saeran’s neck.

Yoosung’s fingers are not as nimble with the button on Saeran’s pants, not as swift at pulling them off, not as confident when they dip below the waistband of Saeran’s boxer briefs. Saeran gives him a moment, he loosens his legs from around Yoosung’s waist and watches him.

Watches Yoosung close his eyes as he presses suddenly soft kisses down Saeran’s chest. Watches Yoosung toy with the waist band of his underwear nervously, watches him pause and take a breath before he jerks them down over Saeran’s hips. Watches him suck in his bottom lip and hold his breath for a minute as he stares at Saeran’s cock.

“Yoosung,” Saeran whispers combing fingers gently through his hair. “We don’t have to—”

“I _want_ to,” Yoosung says looking up at him, amethyst eyes burning with— _desire?_ Determination? Saeran wasn’t sure.

“Yoosung, have you ever—”

“No,” he whispers, eyes falling back to Saeran’s lap before looking up again, “have you?”

And he looks so sweet that Saeran almost doesn’t say it, “Nah but I watched a youtube instructional video so I think I’ve got this covered.”

“Oh my god,” he whines.

“I’m joking,” Saeran smiles. He traces Yoosung’s cheek with his thumb. “You want me to show you? Or We could do something else or—”

Yoosung shakes his head, “N-no, I uh, I want to do this _to_ you,” He traces a tentative finger along the length of Saeran’s cock and watches it twitch.

Saeran tries to think of something encouraging to say, something sweet and considerate and sexy but he doesn’t remember the first time he sucked dick, literally has no memory with all the shit he’d been on in the castle so he leans forward, kisses Yoosung softly and says, “It’s kind of like eating a popsicle.”

Yoosung snorts and rolls his eyes and looks back down at Saeran’s mostly hard dick, “I don’t think it’s anything like eating a popsicle.”

Saeran kisses him again, a little more force this time. His fingers tangle in Yoosung’s hair, his tongue laps at the roof of his mouth, he grabs Yoosung through his boxers and gives him a few quick strokes, just enough to earn another own of those low rumbling groans before he pulls away.

“Hey Star-child,” he whispers with his hands still tangled in Yoosung’s hair, “stop freaking out, I know you’ve had a blow job before, do your best and I’ll talk you through it ok?”

Yoosung nods, and swallows and let’s Saeran guide him down. He’s nervous, not about touching a dick, not even about having one in his mouth, he’s worried about messing up, doing something wrong. Saeran is right he knows what feels good and in theory he should be able to do this.

 _Start with what you know_ , he tells himself, there had to be parts of eating pussy that also applied to giving head. So he drags the flat of his tongue the length of Saeran’s dick, swirls his tongue around the tip, and Saeran’s fingers tighten in his hair.

That was a good sign right?

He rests his hands on Saeran’s hips and does it again, venturing a glance up at his boyfriend. Saeran is looing down at him through thick eyelashes, pupils blown, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. _OK, this is definitely the right direction._

A little more confident he takes Saeran’s dick in his hand and takes it as deep as he thinks he can, closing his mouth over it and hollowing his cheeks and then pulling off with a soft pop and—

“Hhhnhg oh my god Yoosung do that again.”

He tries not to smile as Saeran’s fingers fist in his hair and urge him back down, he does it again, taking him just a little deeper this time and as he draws up he barely has time to tease his tongue along the tip before Saeran’s hand is pushing him back down.

Each time Saean pushes him down he takes him a little deeper and each time he draws back up, hollowing his cheeks and swirling his tongue Saeran pushes him down with just a little more force until Yoosung is no longer in control. His hands are braced on Saeran’s hips and his dick his hitting the back of his throat and Yoosung can’t to anything but moan around it.

He doesn’t even want to stop him. He tries his hardest to relax his throat as Saeran’s hips rise off the couch to meet his mouth. He can’t tell if it’s the strangled sort of moans that Saeran is making or the soft way his free hand pets his cheek, or the way he sometimes slows his thrusts to whisper; _God you’re so good at this_ , but Yoosung is almost painfully hard right now.

He hasn’t done this before, he doesn’t know the etiquette, was it frowned on to jerk off while you sucked dick? He glances up at Saeran, but his head has rolled back so far over the arm of the couch that Yoosung can barely see the jut of his chin before he’s shoved back down, curly red hairs tickling the tip of his nose.

He lifts one hand from his boyfriend’s hip and he gets one, perfect, beautiful, amazing stroke in, the muffled groan barely forcing it’s way past the dick in his mouth before Saeran’s hand falls from his cheek and takes him by the wrist. “No,” he pants, voice still managing to be forceful.

Yoosung could cum just listening to it.

Saeran pulls Yoosung’s head back by his hair and there’s that perfect sting, the drag of Saeran’s tongue along his throat, over his adams apple and Yoosung is acutely aware of the thick trail of saliva and whatever else dripping down his chin. He wants to wipe it off but Saeran is still holding him by the wrist and right now the hand on his boyfriend’s hip is all that’s keeping him upright.

Saeran kisses him anyway, taking Yoosung’s lip between his teeth and tracing it with his tongue before deepening the kiss, pressing his tongue inside Yoosung’s mouth, fucking it with his tongue just like he’d done with his cock and Yoosung whimpers.

Saeran’s fist in his hair presses him back down, gentler this time, and then as he guides Yoosung’s mouth down over him he lets go, and Yoosung can hear the soft chuckle when he whines in protest.

“Mmm, come on cutie I’m _so_ close and you’re _so good_ ,” Saeran purrs and Yoosung’s cock twitches.

“Please,” he says letting Saeran drop from his mouth, “s-say that again.”

Saeran raises an eye brow but he doesn’t miss a beat, “You’re s-so good,” he stammers and Yoosung takes him in his mouth. “God you’re so. Fucking. Good.” He punctuates each word clearly and Yoosung’s moan vibrates through him. “You’re a good boy, Yoosung, o-oh _god.”_

Saeran can’t bring himself to look at Yoosung’s face as that final suck and moan drag him over the edge. He can’t look as his hips stutter and Yoosung just _keeps sucking his cock_. God he hadn’t meant to do that, not without asking but, “Sh-shit, Y-Yoosung, Ehng God, please Yoosung,” he begs desperately, it’s too much he has to stop. “Yoosung god, p- _please_.”

Suddenly he can breathe again, there’s the wet sound of his cock falling from Yoosung’s mouth and the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, and the ragged panting of his breath and when he opens his eyes Yoosung is kneeling, almost naked in front of him. Lips swollen, chin a mess of cum and spit, head tilted like a puppy and an impressive tent in his boxers.

“Hey cutie, come’re,” Saeran slurs catching his breath and holding out and arm. Yoosung let’s Saeran wrap that arm around him and he reaches down beside the couch to where he dropped Yoosung’s shirt, picking up and gently wiping the spit from his boyfriends chin. “Where’d you learn to do that,” he mumbles.

And Yoosung blushes. Yoosung Kim who’d just sucked dick for the first time like he was born to do it actually fucking blushes and tucks his head under Saeran’s chin. “Was, w-was it OK?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Searan groans, it might have been the number one, top ranked blow job of his entire life.

“Is that—”

“It was really good” Saeran mumbles, suddenly shy for a moment. Only a moment before Yoosung shifts and there’s a short stifled moan as he rubs up against Saeran’s leg. “Hey,” Saeran says softly, adjusting himself so that Yoosung slips into the spot he’d just been laying in, “isn’t it your turn now?”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Saeran shifts, he slips to kneel on the floor, pulling Yoosung to sit in front of him and Yoosung moves to follow his boyfriend’s hands eagerly.  Saeran watches as Yoosung wets his swollen lips and stares down at him, practically vibrating with anticipation.

He hooks his fingers into Yoosung’s boxers and drags them slowly over Yoosung’s hips, he maintains eye contact as Yoosung lifts his hips, wiggling eagerly to urge him on and Saeran smirks, “Are you rushing me, Yoosung?”

He watches Yoosung still himself, he watches his adams apple bob as he swallows, he watches Yoosung press his lips together and do his best to wait, and when Saeran finally decides he’s waited long enough he pulls Yoosung’s boxers down past his knees and sets them on top of his tshirt.

He sits forward on his knees dragging his hands up the inside of Yoosung’s thighs and watches him jump and fidget and try to keep still.  He leans farther forward to press a kiss to each of Yoosung’s hips, to trail kisses along Yoosung’s soft belly, to graze teeth across his nipples.

Yoosung whines, it’s quiet, stifled and Saeran can see his hands twitching at his sides.  “Yoosung,” he purrs, “what do you want me to do?”

“Please,” Yoosung whispers.

“Please what?”  Saeran never breaks eye contact, and Yoosung can’t look away.

“Oh my god,” Yoosung moans when Saeran’s hand rests at the top of his thigh, idly tracing patterns in his skin.

“That’s not an answer,” he says digging his nails into Yoosung’s thigh, and he earns himself a whine.

“Touch me,” Saeran raises an eyebrow and Yoosung’s cheeks flare red, “Oh god please Saeran, p-please suck my dick.”

Saeran smiles, he presses a soft kiss to Yoosung’s swollen lips whispers, ”Good boy, Yoosung,” and earns himself another lovely whimper.

Saeran settles back down on his heels between his boyfriend’s legs and runs the pad of his thumb along the crease of Yoosung’s balls and watches him fight the jerk of his hips.  He leans forward and runs the flat of his tongue the length of Yoosung’s dick and watches him jump.

“Saeran,” Yoosung whines, and Saeran keeps himself still, mouth hovering just above Yoosung’s impressively hard dick.  Hot breath ghosting across the tip as Yoosung’s fingers brush through his hair.

And god if Saeran doesn’t close his eyes and lean into that for just a moment, but Yoosung doesn’t tug, doesn’t even press him forward a little, and then that hand slips out of his hair and back to Yoosung’s side Saeran rewards him.  He swallows Yoosung’s entire length in one swift movement.

He bobs his head and hollows his cheeks and flicks his tongue against the underside of Yoosung’s dick.  Yoosungs thighs flex under Saeran’s hands, and Yoosung lets out a series of long keening whimpers before Saeran pulls off, flicking his tongue along the tip and smirking.

“Hmm, what now?” Saeran smirks up at him.

Yoosung’s chest is already heaving and his mouth moves a few times before any sound comes out. “M-more?”  Yoosung shifts in his seat and his cheeks flush red and he begs, “please Saeran, more.”

Saeran can see the restraint, the visible way Yoosung is holding himself back, completely counter to the way he’d taken Yoosung by the hair and fucked his face, completely opposite to the way Yoosung had taken him by the shoulders and kissed him hours ago.    


He runs his tongue lazily along his boyfriend’s length and looks up at him, “Hey Star-Child,” he says for the second time that night, “why don’t you show me what you want?”

Yoosung blinks and groans as Saeran’s tongue darts out to tease along the head of of cock.  Saeran maintains eye contact as he teases Yoosung’s tip, with tongue and lips and careful application of teeth until finally Yoosung’s hand is in his hair again. There’s no tug, no fisting of fingers against his scalp just the soft pressure of Yoosung’s hand pushing him slowly down until he’s nestled tightly in Saeran’s throat.

Saeran waits, hums appreciatively around the cock in his mouth and waits for that tug to pull him up but nothing happens.  So Saeran draws back, slowly, agonizingly slowly, tongue working every inch of Yoosung’s dick he can reach until the gentle push of Yoosung’s palm urges him down again.

Saeran can’t believe that Yoosung is being so gentle.  Yoosung who’d swallowed his dick like a champ, is being so careful with  _ him _ after the way he lost himself, after how rough he was when Yoosung had never sucked dick before.  He pulls back again, open mouthed, teasing tongue, trying to see what he can push Yoosung to do.

The gentle hand in his hair pushes him down faster this time and he hollows his cheeks,  not waiting before he drags his tongue back, pressing firm along his boyfriend’s cock as he goes, this time Yoosung his pushing him back down before he can get a breath in, and he moans around him when his hips jerk up into his mouth, pulling back  slow, stopping along the way to flick and curl is tongue and then fighting the press of Yoosung’s palm to purr, “ _ Good boy _ , Yoosung.”

Yoosung’s fingers fist in his hair and force him down but Saeran smirks and jerks his head so that instead of swallowing Yoosung’s cock again he drags tongue and lips along it’s length until Yoosung lets out a strangled sort of growl and yanks his head back and pressing his dick into Saeran’s mouth.  His hips bucking up, burying Saeran’s nose in thick brown curls and god help him Saeran can feel himself getting hard again.

This is like nothing Yoosung has ever felt before.  He didn’t think there was much to a blowjob that could really be different but the way Saeran’s eyes bore into him the way he teased and praised and used his tongue.  He’d loved the feel of Saeran’s hands in his hair, the feeling of barely holding on while Saeran’s hips had thrust against his face, but all he’d ever known was hands at his sides, soft sounds and predictable rhythms.

He can’t quite bring himself to be as rough as Saeran had been but then Saeran whispers  _ good boy _ and Yoosung’s can’t fuck into his mouth fast enough, pulling him back by the hair and rolling his hips until her feels Saeran’s throat tighten around the tip of his dick. Each rumbling moan as his hips raise to meet his boyfriend’s mouth pulling a frantic whine from his own.

“Hng, g-god Saeran,” he whines as a hand cups his balls and Yoosung isn’t sure he can last much longer than this.  Not with how hard he’s been all day, not with the back and forth teasing and the way Saeran’s bright green eyes seem to dare him to look away.

One of Saeran’s hands traces gentle circles on his hip while the other fondles his balls and those eyes never wavering, keeping him trapped there whimpering as Saeran swallows him down, his tongue works some kind of, the only word Yoosung can find to describe it is,  _ magic _ .

“I-I, Saeran, nng,  _ god Saeran _ ,” he whines, he can’t form a coherent thought let alone put it into words, so his hand drops from Saeran’s hair but his boyfriend doesn’t seem to notice as he bobs along Yoosung’s length and Yoosung can’t. He’s going to cum and he’s never done  _ that _ in someone’s mouth before, and sure he’d been ok with swallowing for Saeran but.

“G-god, I-I’m, nng,” he shoves at Saeran’s face and squeezes his eyes shut and suddenly everything stops and he opens one eye and Saeran is sitting back on his heels watching him, concerned.

“Are you ok? Do you want me to stop? Did I hurt you?” Saeran is asking 

Yoosung lets out a ragged breath and reaches for Saeran pulling him against him, pressing their swollen lips together and pushing his tongue past teeth to stroke along the roof of Saeran’s mouth. “I’m so close,” he whines, lips still pressed against Saeran’s.

Saeran lets out a soft relieved sound. “Then why’d you stop me dummy?”

“I, I uh,” he jumps when Saeran’s hand slips off his thigh to stroke lazily at his cock, “I’ve never, you know?  Not in anyone’s mouth before.”

Saeran laughs, it’s breathless and gentle and not teasing but Yoosung is already blushing. “I don’t mind,” Saeran purrs, “only seems fair.” And he leans forward to take him into his mouth again only to have Yoosung stop him.

“N-no,” Yoosung stammers holding him back as Saeran smirks at him, “I uh, it’s not, can we,  _ god _ .”

But Saeran just nods, “it’s ok Yoosung, we can do something else.”    


He stands up pressing Yoosung back against the arm of the couch, Saeran kneels between his legs and leans forward to press kisses along his chest.  “God,” he whispers appreciatively as he presses a kiss to Yoosung’s jaw, “do you even know how fucking hot you are right now.”

Yoosung can’t help but whimper, “I-I am?”

“Sh-shit,” Saeran gasps as Yoosung’s hand sneaks round to squeeze experimentally at his ass, “Yes, fucking look at you with your perfect cocksucking lips and your hair all fucking messed up and your eyes all wide, god Yoosung.”

Yoosung can’t even respond before Saeran has taken both their dicks in his hand, his hips buck up instinctively and his head rolls back and they both moan together.  Saeran is smirking when he looks at him again, adjusting himself to lean on one hand over Yoosung, he gives a lazy thrust against Yoosung’s cock and watches him with those challenging green eyes as he fights not to look away when the groan bubbles past his lips.

Saeran presses his forehead to Yoosung’s and whispers “Do you think you could cum like this cutie?”

Yoosung nods slowly lifting his hips to rut into Saeran’s hand, and letting go another whimper as he watches Saeran bite his lip and smirk.

“Mmm, that’s good Yoosung, you’re a good boy,” he coos, covering Yoosung’s mouth in a sloppy kiss that swallows another series of keening moans.    


They kiss, messy and frantic, all teeth and tongue and swallowed sounds as Saeran sets an almost frantic pace watching Yoosung fall apart below him.

It doesn’t take long to get him back to where his was, it’s not long before Yoosung is writhing, and whimpering, bucking into Saeran’s thrusts, no longer kissing him back, his head thrown back, his mouth open, words bubbling out.

“Hng, g-god, Saeran, please, pl-please, say it again,” he begs between whimpers, all control lost to the coiling build of his orgasm.

“Hmm, f-fuck,” Saeran is close again too, watching Yoosung squirm below him and picturing all the ways he can take him apart and put him back together when he’s ready to be properly fucked. “God Yoosung, Hng shit, y-your a good, fucking, boy,” the words bubble out of him like a  fountain and Yoosung clings to him, bucking up into his hand and stuttering his name and Saeran isn’t far behind him.

The frantic way his lover cries his name, the sting of Yoosung’s nails on his back has Saeran cumming into his hand as he drops lazy open mouthed kisses along Yoosung’s shoulder and collapses onto him, the two of them completely wrecked.  Panting and sweating and sticky with cum they lay there for just a minute before Saeran stands.

Yoosung whines for the loss of his boyfriends warmth and then the sharp intake of breath, “Oh wow, Saeran are you ok?”

Saeran glances back to watch his boyfriend’s face go from fucked silly to concerned. “What?” He laughs, “you wanna go again?”

Yoosung frowns, “No, your back? I, did I do that to your back?”

“My,” he pauses, “back?”

“Oh my god,” Yoosung whispers standing up to run his hand over the scratches, “oh no, I’m so sorry,” he presses a kiss to one.

Saeran chuckles. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine it happens.”

“It  _ happens _ ?” Yoosung follows Saeran as he collects a wash cloth and runs it under warm water.

He shrugs, “Yeah,” his smile goes smug as he wipes at the mess on his boyfriend’s belly, “it was good right?”

Yoosung blushes, deep red starting at his chest and spreading up to his cheeks until he’s almost completely crimson and looking anywhere than Saeran’s smirking face. “Uh huh,” he says voice a little dreamy as he grabs for the cloth.

“You should take a shower,” Saeran laughs holding it away from him.  “No point in us both suffering a sponge bath just because  _ I’m _ a mess.”

Yoosung nods and starts running the water, he watches Saeran curiously before he asks, “has that happened to you?”

“The scratching thing?” Saeran shrugs, “I guess, I mean I- probably?”

“You don’t know?”

Saeran laughs, “Do you really want to dig deep into my tragic backstory right now?”

Yoosung groans.

“Besides,” Saeran says and behind the shower curtain Yoosung can  _ hear _ the smirk on his face, “are you telling me Jisu has  _ never _ tore  _ your _ back to ribbons?”

And there’s something in that statement that piques his interest, “N-no, she’s never really been, you know  _ like _ that.”

Saeran snorts, “Uh, oh?”

It’s probably just that he’s uncomfortable talking about his ex-girlfriend, Saeran’s friend, maybe whatever had happened before, but Saeran had brought it up and it nags at him.

Saeran finds himself almost intrigued, he’d never been a willing participant but there had been so many drugs he almost felt as if the things he’d done with Jisu had happened to someone else.  Certainly he didn’t think he was  _ that _ different when he was with someone he wanted to be with, and after the other night it would seem Jisu had wanted to be with him.  Still she had repressed so much of herself rather than seeking help he shouldn’t be surprised.

He splashes cold water on his face and turns as Yoosung steps out of the shower, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him close to pepper soft kisses to his face, forget about her, forget about Mint Eye, bring himself back to today.  Back to being here, comfortable and naked with his boyfriend laughing in his arms.

“So,” Saeran smirks pressing kisses to Yoosung’s damp neck, “how’s it feel to know you owned sucking your first cock?”

“Oh my god,” Yoosung laughs covering his face, “why are you like this?”

“Why do you like me like this?” He snorts back wrapping a towel around Yoosung’s waist.  They dress separately, Yoosung going to his room and Saeran digging through his bag, pulling on underwear and a shirt and smiling when Yoosung comes out wearing the same.  They gather up the clothing they left lying around, Yoosung whining that it could stay until morning and Saeran scolding him for being a slob like his brother.

When they settle on the little couch, Yoosung relaxing into his new place as the little spoon. Saeran manages to convince him to watch one of his stupid ghosting hunting shows.  He loves every little twitch and jump, the strangled way Yoosung tries not to squeal.  Saeran holds Yoosung’s hands in his and smiles into his damp hair.

He falls asleep first, waking up to soft smiling lips pressed against his as Yoosung pulls him up and to the bedroom.  No digging in his closet for extra blankets, this time and the pillow Saeran had used not two weeks before is still on Yoosung’s bed.  He catches Yoosung glance from the pillow to Saeran and blushing. “It smelled like you so I left it there.”

Saeran climbs into bed right behind him, pulling him into his chest and wrapping them both in the heavy blue star patterned blanket Yoosung has slept with for as long as Saeran can remember.  Longer he’s certain, that Yoosung knows he’s been watched by him.

Yoosung turns and wraps himself around Saeran, tucking his head under his chin and letting Saeran pull him close, it’s not long before they’re both fast asleep. 

The bed is cold and empty when Yoosung wakes up but he can smell something cooking and maybe coffee?  Saeran didn’t even drink coffee.  He shuffles towards the smell, finding Saeran standing over a frying pan, bacon, eggs, and it smelled like toast almost ready to eat.  He smiles  over his shoulder at Yoosung turning off the burner and meeting him part way.

“Hey,” Yoosung yawns as Saeran pulls him into a hug and presses a kiss to his neck.

“Morning Star-Child,” he whispers into Yoosung’s shoulder before turning back to the stove.

Yoosung blushes.  “Why do you call me that?”

“It’s what your name means right? Shooting Star?” Saeran shrugs but Yoosung can see the nerves behind it.  “Do you hate it?”

“I don’t but-”

“But?” Saeran says and his face pinches a bit as he reaches for plates.

“It’s kind of embarrassing?” 

“You’re not sure?” Saeran chuckles. 

“No, no I like it it’s just, I think Saeyoung and Zen will tease me you know?”

Saeran laughs, “I guess you’re right, it will be our secret.”  Another gentle kiss to Yoosung’s cheek as he sets the plates down on the table.

They eat in comfortable silence, checking all the messages they’d ignored the night before.  Yoosung has an email from his Mom, a text from his sister, there’s a missed call from V that might be a few days old, he’s not sure.  Saeran has a series of unintelligible texts from his brother, he’s still angry.  There’s a text from Jumin asking him what he’d like to eat followed by an apology as Jumin remembers his plans.  There’s an email from V letting him know that someone else will take Jisu to her meetings and that she’ll be leaving for rehab in a week.

“So,” Yoosung says suddenly and Saeran can see there conflict there.

“Mmhmm,” he hums around a bite of toast and tries to look casual.

“I’m, uh, I don’t want to, you know seem paranoid?”  Yoosung starts and Saeran’s heart sinks.  He knows exactly where this is going but then Yoosung’s face changes and he shrugs and smiles, “Nevermind.”

“Ok,” Saeran nods but he knows it’s only so long before Yoosung gets up the nerve to ask what he wants to ask, and Saeran won’t lie to him anymore.  Not now.    


“So,” Yoosung says again, but this time his cheeks are pink and a different kind of trepidation on his face.

“So,” Saeran says, grinning a little.

“Is, uh, is that the difference between being with guys and being with girls?”  Yoosung asks, eyes down, very interested in the last bit of egg on his plate.

“Is what the difference?” Saeran asks, very aware that Yoosung has been with all of two people in his entire life and even if Saeran hadn’t been wasted more times than not he was well past a number he could remember.

“You know, they uh, the touching and it was rougher and-”

“Hmm,” Saeran muses, “no that’s not.  I don’t think there’s a difference really.”

“Have you ever been with a girl before?” Yoosung narrows his eyes at Saeran.

“Not uh, not because I wanted to, but yeah.”

And his face instantly softens, “Oh, I’m, I’m sorry I didn’t mean.”

“It’s ok Yoosung.  I think girls can be more  _ nervous _ sometimes, at the start but not always.  Is-was, had you not-”

“Jisu stopped if I moved, or if I touched her, she didn’t uh, she didn’t do that often I don’t know, and when I,” he clears his throat and looks away, “when I went down on her she never touched me either?  I just, I don’t know I  _ assumed _ .”

It’s hard for Saeran to rectify what Yoosung is saying with the woman he’d known, all hands and demands and all he can do is let out a very small “oh” that has Yoosung raising his eyebrows.  “But you, you liked it?” Saeran asks.

Yoosung sucks his bottom lip in and nods.  “Uh huh.”

Saeran knows he needs to go back to Jumin’s today, needs to call his brother and take his lumps but the morning is so nice.  Full of lazy kisses, and Yoosung trying desperately to figure out if Saeran likes a thing or if he’s only pretending for Yoosung’s sake.  Mostly it’s a combination.

But then there’s the occasional moment when the air gets tense and Yoosung gives him a look and starts to ask a question before changing the subject.  Saeran can’t take it anymore but he can’t just bring himself to call out the things he’s been hiding for the better part of a year.

“Just ask me Yoosung,” he says.  He’d been getting his things together, and they’d been laughing and kissing and teasing and Yoosung had gotten that look again.

“If I ask you,” Yoosung says carefully, not looking at him, “I’m not going to like the answer am I?”

Saeran can feel his heart breaking, “You’re not,” he says and his mouth feels dry.  He crouches down and digs in his bag until he comes up with the little bottle of Xanax.  Yoosung watches him as he crosses to the kitchen and takes one with a glass of water.

There’s a bitterness to Yoosung’s voice that Saeran hasn’t heard when he speaks again, “that bad?”

Saeran snorts.

“Why,” Yoosung asks.

Saeran inhales deeply and he lets out a terrible sigh that makes Yoosung want to take it back, not ask, not notice the looks, and the tone of his voice, to never see this look on his boyfriend’s face again but he has a burning need to know. There have been  _ so many lies _ .

“I was 13,” Saeran says, he might as well start at the beginning, might as well tell him everything about Jisu that he knows and 13 years old it where it starts.  He tells Yoosung about the foster family, and being taken to mint eye.  He tells him about how quickly she broke.  Yoosung has heard the sad story of the little boy made nothing before but this time he hears it with all the blanks filled in.

This time hears about the bright spot that is the Peach, and all the ways the pretty Peach was rotten inside and surprising even to himself is the way Saeran’s voice never waivers as he describes how he took her punishments, and how later they were thrown together as gifts or to  _ entertain _ .  He continues on, the whole story even when Yoosung’s eyes beg him to stop.

He wants to stop, but it feels  _ different _ to say it all again.  To say it without having to analyze it, to speak the words and feel nothing beyond the pain that he knows,  _ he knows _ this is killing Yoosung.  He can’t even look at him when he’s done, he can hear the soft plop of his tears and rasp of his breath as he tries not to sob, and tears sting his eyes.

But there’s relief, one less lie he has to tell and it’s  _ Yoosung _ .  Kind, honest, forgiving, Yoosung who  _ loves _ him, and has been here for him and will understand.

“I thought about telling you,” he says quietly, “but you two were so,” he shrugs, “and I didn’t want to ruin that, and V and Jumin thought it was best not to.”

“But you’re telling me now?” Yoosung says and there’s an edge to it.

“You asked,” he says weakly.

“Can you go?” Yoosung whispers, “drive I mean, are you ok to drive?”

Saeran pulls his bag over his shoulder and nods when Yoosung looks up at him, his face twisted, his eyes red.  He doesn’t stop Saeran when he reaches out to run a shaky hand through Yoosung’s hair.  He doesn’t stop him when Saeran presses a kiss to his temple and then his cheek and whispers “I’m so fucking  _ sorry _ ,” into his neck.

“Are you ok?” Saeran asks, fighting tears of his own, “do you want me to call someone?  Zen or Saeyoung?”

Yoosung shakes his head. “I just, I want to be alone.”

Saeran nods.  He looks back before he closes the door but he only catches Yoosung’s back as he disappears down the hall to his room.

He’s ok at first, walking down the stairs.  It  _ hurts _ but he’ll give Yoosung time, of course he’d need time, and he’ll text him tonight, ask Saeyoung to check on him tomorrow, give him a few days, remind him he was here but keep his distance.

Of course he was upset, after all the lies to have Saeran lying too.

He thinks he’s ok as he steps out of the building and onto the street.  He doesn’t even notice the tears on his face until he slips behind the wheel of his borrowed car and catches sight of his reflection.  That’s when the first sob breaks through his chest like a wave, followed by a second and then a third.  He presses his forehead to the steering wheel and lets himself cry until he has to take out his contacts.  Let’s himself cry until his head hurts and his nose is running and everything aches.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters left.


	10. Chapter 10

Yoosung throws up. 

He’s sitting there and Saeran has poured out the story of the Peach and he’s mad at first.  Jumin?  Saeyoung?  V? He doesn’t care that they lied to him, that they didn’t think he could handle the truth about his girlfriend, they were dealing with that now he figured.  But Saeran had always told him the truth.  

Saeran hadn’t lied to him.  Yoosung could see there was something he held back but Mint Eye been so awful Yoosung can accept that, this was about Jisu or the woman he called the Peach.  He hated that of all the painful truths Saeran had shared, or sometimes in the early days spat, at him, he’d kept this to himself.

And he was mad, right up until the moment he wasn’t.

It took him all morning to get up the nerve, to put the words in a row, one by one until Saeran finally couldn’t avoid it anymore.  He’d stammered over them and given up so many times but Saeran had really only needed the one.

He’s pissed. Not about the fact that his boyfriend had slept with his ex-girlfriend, he’s not so selfish to be mad about that.  That wasn’t sex, and he knows it, he’d admit to a twinge of jealousy, to a bit of that part of him he does his absolute best to keep tightly under wraps but nothing more.  He’s pissed, not because he thinks this would have saved his relationship with Jisu.

He’s not so delusional to think that it could have been saved.  He knows now, after last night, he’d only clung to the first person to show him any warmth.  Even if he’d felt any lasting kind of love for Jisu it wouldn’t have been real, it would have been for a mask.

Would he even like the person she was after rehab?

He’s mad at first and he can’t even look at Saeran, he listens to the foster home, and his little sister, and Peach and every question he’s ever asked, every  _ why _ plays through his mind. He vividly relives all the times the man he loves, the person he really truly loves, has lied to him.

He’s furious, but then Saeran describes the beatings, sometimes for accepting her kindness, sometimes as proxy, and then worse.  He listens to Saeran talk about all the horrible and varied forms of abuse they were both put through, times when they were the perpetrators and times when they were victims.  He talks about being things, gifts, toys, entertainment and he’s not mad anymore.

It leaves an empty space in his gut.  A hollow feeling while Saeran describes teaching her about the RFA, describes how they’d competed initially to have  _ him _ and he feels like this is happening to someone else.  He knew some of it.  He knew  _ Saeran’s _ part in it.  He’d confessed once, pressed underneath his desk in the middle of a panic attack, that Yoosung had been a prize to win, he’d confessed through panicked gulps of air and wracking sobs and Yoosung had had to call Saeyoung to help.

It’s something different to hear the story in full, that she wasn’t a victim lured to the apartment.  Saeran skips over the parts where he can fill in the blanks, the part where she’d practically sent him and Saeyoung into what was now obviously a trap.

The empty spot fills as Saeran looks down, picking at his hands and finishes his confession.  It fills as he gathers his things and runs a hand through Yoosung’s hair and presses soft apologetic kisses to his face.  It fills as he watches him leave, makes sure he safe.  If fills as Saeran offers to call someone for him, until it’s full, and he can’t stand it and it has to  _ go _ .

He can’t watch Saeran leave, he can’t watch his boyfriend go, but he can’t sit here with him after that, can’t work out how he feels, he has to cover his mouth, to almost run down the hall and he  _ barely _ makes it to the toilet before it’s coming up.

Sushi, and chicken, and eggs and everything Saeran had cooked for him.  Every nice thing he could hold onto, he heaves into the toilet.  His chest burns and he can feel tears and he’s already sobbing even as he continues to heave, even as he flushes and starts to stand and pitches to vomit again.

He washes his face, brushes his teeth but then he glances in the mirror and he remembers standing here with Saeran last night and he feels sick again has to lean over the toilet and dry heave a few more times, until he gives up.  It’s early, he has no plans except that he’d been considering going back to Jumin’s with Saeran.  So he curls up in the bathtub, not entirely sure he’s done, not quite willing to leave the safety of the bathroom.

He draws up his knees and rests his head against the cold tile and he cries.

Yoosung wakes up disoriented and sore and vaguely aware of someone banging on his door.  He tries not to look in the mirror, to miss how pale he is, how bloodshot his eyes are.  He ignores it for a minute to gargle mouthwash and chug a glass of water.  It’s probably Saeyoung or Zen.  

Definitely Saeyoung, he figures as another barrage of knocks hit his door.

He burps, and swallows and shuffles his way to answer.  No rush, he doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t want cheering up or to listen to how he should  _ consider _ Saeran’s feelings.  He knows those things and he’ll get to them eventually, when he feels like it.  When he’s finished considering his own.

The last person he expects is standing at his door when he opens it.  Frowning, phone to his ear, fist raised to pound again; Jumin Han doesn’t speak, he just steps past Yoosung into his small apartment and Yoosung is suddenly worried.

“Is-”

Jumin holds up a hand and finishes on the phone then he frowns at Yoosung.  “I suppose you are angry with us then?”

“I’m, uh,” Yoosung shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You’re angry with him though?” Jumin asks, eyebrow slightly raised before turning to Yoosung’s kitchen and frowning into the refrigerator.

He fights his instinct to ask if Saeran is ok, Jumin at his door banging like that, it had startled him and he was worried but he wasn’t ready to admit it so he sets his jaw into what he hopes is a neutral expression. “Yeah.”

“Because he lied to you on our behalf?”  He gives up and collects a glass from the cupboard holds it up to the light and then frowns before filling it with tap water.

Yoosung shrugs, “The lying mostly,” he mumbles.

Jumin nods, there’s something open about the way he looks at Yoosung.  “Yes that can be troublesome.”

Yoosung snorts and starts to say something biting and then he remembers.  It’s only been a year for Jumin too after all.  Only a year since all of V’s lies came crashing down and Jumin had lost his best friend for a while.  He forces the neutral expression back on his face, forces down his sneer and figures that out of everyone, maybe Jumin was worth listening to.  

“Is that normal?” Jumin asks before the penthouse door has even closed behind him.

Saeran glances up from his spot on the chair by the window and frowns, “Depends, how’d he look?”

Jumin shakes his head, “No worse than you did when you came in earlier.”

“I don’t know what that fucking means,” Saeran mutters turning back to the guitar in his lap.  

“You know,” Jumin says and anyone else might think he was scowling but Saeran knew better, that look was Jumin’s version of thoughtful. “Hmm,” Jumin trails off.

Saeran had stayed with Jumin during the early days of his recovery, while Saeyoung made a place for him in the bunker, while the rest of the RFA thought Saeran might actually kill him if they left them together, when Saeyoung might have let him if he’d really tried.  Jumin wasn’t scowling as he considered Saeran, draped across his favorite arm chair by the window, beat up children’s guitar in his lap and Elizabeth the third perched on the back of the chair watching him curiously.  

“God, what?”  _ Saeran _ scowls.

“I was just thinking, should you ever choose to  _ pursue _ your talent, that would be a lovely album cover,” Jumin shrugs turning back to the kitchen.

Saeran blushes.  He liked Jumin, he always knew where he stood with him, and he felt a sort of kinship with him.  Jumin was more than anyone gave him credit for, and while no one else realized it Saeran had seen the man at his lowest.  Saeran could see past all of Jumin’s masks.  They were easy to recognize when Saeran had had so many of his own for so long and Jumin had always seemed to respect Saeran’s  _ roughness _ . 

Jumin had  _ respected _ the snarling animal he’d been when he’d first come here. if Saeyoung had once considered V as a sort of father Saeran thought maybe he saw Jumin that way.

“Have you considered the menu?” Jumin asks, and Saeran isn’t sure how much time has passed since Jumin got home.

Saeran shurgs.

“Use your words, Saeran,” Jumin scolds him.

He chuckles, it’s been a terrible day and he shouldn’t feel like laughing, he definitely doesn’t feel like eating but Jumin scolding him like a child had caught him off guard. “I’m not hungry, whatever you’re having I’ll eat.”

Saeran doesn’t miss the smirk on Jumin’s face, “I was going to have the Salmon.”

“No you fucking weren’t,” Saeran groans.

“There’s nothing to say I wasn’t,” Jumin answers coolly with a subtle raise of his eyebrow.

Saeran eats, and then he plays his guitar until Jumin frowns and ushers him into the guest room.  He lays in bed until Jumin pushes his door open and forces him to get up.  He plays his guitar until Jumin comes home and makes him eat, he does this for three days, only stopping when Jumin  _ reminds  _ him to eat, or go to an appointment.  Cheong comes to the penthouse, all cocky charm and winks at Jaehee when she stops by to leave paperwork for Jumin.

Then Jumin takes the guitar from him and frowns at his cracked calloused fingers before he sets it aside. “Do you think  _ that _ doesn’t count as harming yourself?”

Saeran snorts.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“That’s not what I asked you, please don’t answer questions I haven’t asked  _ Saeran _ , we’ve spoken about this.” Jumin shakes his head and walks away.  He comes back with a first aid kit that Saeran is more than familiar with.  He holds out his hands and lets Jumin wrap the tips of his fingers.  Jumin doesn’t speak or pry he just administers the gauze and ointment and waits.

“I send him texts,” Saeran says quietly, he turns his head in the chair to stare out the window, over the view of the city.  “They’re marked as seen so I guess that’s something, he’s not ignoring me completely.”

“But he hasn’t spoken to you yet?” Jumin says, his voice low, like he’s speaking to a wounded animal.

Saeran grunts as Elizabeth jumps down into his lap, but he doesn’t shoo her away. “Nope, I guess he’s pretty pissed off.”

“Wouldn’t you be, if this were reversed?” Jumin asks.

“I know,” he growls.  “I don’t fucking blame him, he  _ should _ hate me.”

“He doesn’t,” Jumin says.

“Yeah and he doesn’t want to fucking talk to me either.”

Yoosung isn’t expecting the knock at his door any more than he’s expecting Saeyoung and Jisu to be standing on the other side of it. Saeyoung makes a show of peaking around the corner of the doorframe before coming in. “All alone today Little Buddy?” He chirps.

Yoosung shrugs, it doesn’t occur to him that Saeyoung wouldn’t know he and Saeran weren’t speaking and with Jisu just behind him, hands clasp behind her back looking anywhere but his face he has zero desire to even mention it. 

“I left some things here,” she says softly.

“Oh, yeah, I just,” he sighs, takes a breath, “ _ you _ know where they are,” he shrugs.

As soon as she’s down the hall and out of earshot Saeyoung leans into him, “So?” He smirks.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Yoosung says stepping away and he knows that Saeyoung can practically read his mind, always has, so he’s ready when he grabs him by the shoulders. 

“Wait, what happened?”

“Nothing, I don’t want to talk about it.”  Yoosung repeats himself and glances back at the hall.

“Oh,” Saeyoung says. “He told you then?”

Yoosung shrugs.

“You know,” Saeyoung drops his voice and keeps his eyes on the hallway, “he’s wanted to tell you from the start, we wouldn’t let him but between you and me, we should have listened to him more.”

“You’ve got that fucking right,” Yoosung mumbles and Saeyoung slaps a hand over his mouth.

“What has  _ happened  _ to you Yoosung Kim,” he howls in mock horror, “You’ve been spending time with ruffians and thugs,  _ such language _ !  You should go to church! I blame video games,  _ ruining our youth _ !”

Yoosung doesn’t have to look to know this show is for Jisu.  Jisu with her dark eyes rimmed in red, sniffling her way out of the hall with a canvas bag full of her things.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Saeyoung demands standing in front of Saeran in his chair at Jumin’s penthouse.

“Tell you what?” Jisu was at a meeting right now, or Saeyoung wouldn’t have had time to stop by.  He wonders who told him.

“You’re  _ fighting _ with Yoosung?”

“It’s not a fight,” Saeran shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. “We’re just not, you know, talking right now.  He needs time or whatever.”

His brother takes his hand and shakes it at him, “are you doing this again?”

“It’s from playing guitar,” Saeran growls snatching his hand back.  “I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t do it on purpose.

“You sure about that?” Saeyoung frowns at him and that old feeling surfaces.  That disapproving look he wants to smack off of his brother’s face.  

Saeran’s fists clench and he forces his hands to relax, shoves them under him where he sits and takes a couple deep breathes. “It’s fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Saeyoung reaches out and ruffles Elizabeth’s fur the way he would normally ruffle his brother’s hair but he’s always been good at reading a room when he wanted to.

Saeran shrugs.  “I dunno, it’s Yoosung’s business too you know?”

“God Seven knows what all his devout are doing, they hide  _ nothing _ from me,” Seven says with a knowing nod.

“I want to hit you right now, are you seriously going to say that shit to my face when I’m actively restraining myself?  Jesus fuck Saeyoung.”  Saeran groans.

His brother shrugs, “Worth a shot.  You wanna talk about it?”

“Not fucking really.”

“Are you coming home when Jisu leaves?”

“Haven’t decided,”  Saeran shrugs.

“Did you break up?” Saeyoung whispers.

“ _ Shit _ ,” Saeran groans, “no?  I don’t fucking know?  _ God _ .”

“Sorry,” Saeyoung hangs his head for a minute.  His brother had hoped for a firmer answer, a yes or no.  He could  _ help _ with a yes or a no, he probably assumed.  “What’s Rhee have to say about it?”

“A lot of, how do I feels,” Saeran groans.  “He said that the fact that I’ve given him space should  _ reassure _ me that I’m not fixated, like that’s the fucking silver lining.”

Jisu goes to rehab, and Yoosung goes home to visit his family and soon enough Summer break is almost over.  Yoosung isn’t mad at Saeran, not really but he’s hurt and every time he thinks of calling him he freezes, every time he opens one of Saeran’s texts he means to respond but he can’t find the words.  Worries he’s waited too long to just  _ say hello _ .

So he plays LOLOL and he meets up with friends if they make him and he thinks about what a terrible boyfriend he is.  And he is.  He could at least tell Saeran he needs more time, or tell someone else to tell Saeran to  _ just come here _ .  Yoosung is almost certain that he’s lost inside his own head, that his own worst case scenarios are the only thing keeping him from responding to those texts, or answering the phone.

Right now, alone in his apartment with a bowl of cold ramen and a can of Saeran’s favorite energy drink Yoosung Kim still loves his boyfriend, he misses him, and he wants to see him.  But out there, somewhere in the future, face to face with his boyfriend that Yoosung Kim might not be so lucky.

He listens to the 3 voicemails Saeran has left.  Short things just to remind him to take as long as he needs, that Saeran will be there, when he’s ready, whatever he needs, and Yoosung hates that he can’t make himself call, or text.  Hates that he’s afraid of how the things he feels right now might change if they’re face to face.  If he can hear Saeran’s voice.

Half of him wants Saeran to just come to his door, maybe he can’t get up the nerve to ask him to come over to talk but if he were just here?  Yoosung is almost positive he’d melt into his arms, cover his face with kisses.  Half of him wants them to pick up like nothing happened, or talk about it like adults.  Yoosung doesn’t know how to do that, to talk about his feelings.  He wants to ask Saeran to teach him.

But the other half is terrified.  Right now it hurts, he’s  _ sad _ and he misses Saeran.  He presses play on Moulin Rogue and listens to it while he plays LOLOL, turns it off before the end just like Saeran had.  It hurts, but right now he loves him and he misses him and what if he  _ did _ show up and all Yoosung could feel was betrayed?  What if he shows up and the sinking feeling gets worse and what he misses isn’t Saeran but the memory of Saeran  _ before _ ?  

What if he can’t look at him ever again without feeling what he’d felt sitting at that table?

Still Yoosung can’t forget, can’t move on.  He can’t let himself think about Saeran at all most days without crying.  Sometimes he doesn’t notice, sometimes he’s playing LOLOL and in the middle of an event he feels the tickle of something on his chin and realizes his face is covered in tears.  

Sometimes he’s in the shower trying to wank himself to oblivion and he remembers Saeran’s mouth on him. Saeran’s hand in his hair, the breathless way he’d called him Star-Child and he’s almost there, when it’s all replaced with the way he’d kissed his cheek and whispered  _ sorry _ and it’s gone, he’s left sobbing in the shower.

Jumin and Saeyoung can talk to him about closure all they want but Yoosung is comfortable in limbo where closure is an idea and he can still tell himself he loves his boyfriend.

He’s had a good few days really, he realizes as he stares at the text Saeran had sent him last night.  His thumbs hover over the keyboard on his phone and he tries to force himself to spell out the words  _ I miss you _ , tries to will them to move to the letters that form  _ come over _ .  But he’s already been here for 5 minutes and he hasn’t found it in himself to do it.

He jumps, like he’s holding a joy buzzer rather than a vibrating phone, makes a small undignified squeak and closes his eyes for a minute.  He clutches the phone to his chest and steadies his breathing before looking.

[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: It’s a little late sorry, I’ve been busy but I think I owe this to you?   
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: [[IMG ATTACHED](http://i.imgur.com/5gxFYKv.png)]

_ Seen _ always seen but Yoosung doesn’t answer.  Jisu goes to rehab and Saeran stays at Jumin’s.  He has a plan now.  Saeran’s gotten pretty good at seeing through Yoosung Kim’s fake happy bullshit.  He’d spent most of a year trying to figure out how to emulated it before he gave up. It hurts but Saeran makes sure to go to the chatroom as often as he can.  Yoosung is there more often than not these days and even if they never interact if feels  _ warm _ to be near him in some way.

He stays at Jumin’s because Saeyoung worries, and Saeyoung hovers and Saeyoung can’t keep his nose out of anyone else’s business any better than he can keep a secret.  He stays at Jumin’s because Jumin has the things he needs to make this better. 

It struck him the day Jisu had gone to rehab.  She’d sent him an email before she’d left.  He suspects she’d intended to wait longer, it’s not polished the way he associated with her usual methods of communication. Maybe that was the meds she was on.  It’s long, and he wonders if someone told her to write it.  

Maybe Doctor Rhee, or Saeyoung, maybe V.  Jisu never did know how to pull her punches when someone fucked up and after a lengthy apology Saeran finds himself staring at the words  _ Grow a pair and go see him, stop being a pussy _ .  He almost laughs.  It was more the Peach than Jisu but he hopes that maybe after rehab she’ll keep some of that spunk.

He’d already been thinking about it really but her email gives him that push.  It wasn’t the predictable lectures from his brother or Jumin.  It wasn’t about closure or conflict resolution.   _ Nut up or shut up. _  Yoosung wasn’t going to make the first move, whether out of a passive personality or some stubborn attempt to be the tough guy for once.  So Saeran had employed Step One of his plan.

It was simple really, playing guitar had been hard with the bandages on his fingers and while Jumin had offered to bring a piano into the penthouse Saeran had pointed out the offer was  _ fucking ridiculous _ , he played Cheong’s twenty-something key keyboard and beat on the drum pads during his sessions and he drew while he waited for his fingers to heal.

He drew stars, and skies and, too many to count, he drew Yoosung’s mouth and the curve of his smile, just doodles, never a whole face, never on purpose.  A smile here, and eye there, the hint of a nose before he realized who it belonged to and turned the page.  Then he gets Jisu’s email and remembers a night on the couch in Yoosung’s apartment with a film he hadn’t wanted to watch.

An idea forms.

Saeran can’t imagine Yoosung Kim with a tattoo, not really, but he sits down with sketchbooks and draws a million versions of a shooting star, all of them Yoosung but none of them  _ right _ .  So he takes a break, goes back to painting skies, and galaxies, and doodling stars and eyes until it hits him.

It’s not convenient, it’s 2am and he should already be sleeping, he’s supposed to go into C&R and do some temp work in the IT department in return for Jumin helping him with what he’s started to think of as Step Two of his plan to woo Yoosung Kim.  Inspiration never really cares what time it is, so Saeran slips out of bed.  

Jumin is a heavy sleeper, he doesn’t really have to worry about waking him but Saeran grabs an energy drink from Jumin’s fridge and slips out onto the balcony with his art supplies tucked under his arm.  Jumin finds him there at 5am, fingers covers in ink, smudges of blue and purple streaked at his temple where he’s run sleepy fingers through his hair.

“Did you forget our agreement?” Jumin asks with a hint of amusement in his stern tone.

Saeran jumps, yawns and scowls at Jumin. “No, I didn’t fucking forget I just-”

“Is that for Yoosung,” Jumin interrupts as Saeran starts putting things away.

He shrugs, tries to keep the scowl on his face despite the bit of pride that he must have finally gotten it  _ right _ if Jumin could tell who it was for.

“Are you going to see him then?”

“Not yet,” Saeran says.

Jumin follows him as he shuffles inside tucking the drawing inside a folder in his computer bag before going to take a shower.  

He means to wait until the end of the day, the art department had better equipment that Jumin’s penthouse, but he’s excited.  For the first time in weeks he feels a tangible hope so he nods to Jumin and goes directly there.  Does what he needs to and sends the text to Yoosung.

Then he goes to work.  He doesn’t wait for the response he doesn’t expect to get and Jumin Han was going to make him earn the favor he needed for step two.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey it's come to my attention that the [Attatched IMG] in the chat at the end wasn't obviously clickable? But hey it is and you can click on it and see what Saeran sent to Yoosung because I definitely spent too much time thinking about that before I drew it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember how I said this was going to be the last chapter? How about like two more because I can never finish anything

[707]: Did you get a job  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: No   
[707]: Jumin said you’re working for him   
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: And   
[707]: It’s not a job?   
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: No  
[707]: Saeran  
[707]: ...  
[707]: Did  
[707]: You  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: No I fucking didn’t  
[707]: Are you gonna?  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: …  
[707]: YOU ARE  
[707]: BABY BRO  
[707]: Did you buy him flowers?  
[707]: DID YOU BUY HIM CHOCOLATES?  
[707]: Do you want a box of HBC?  I have stickers!!!!  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: Fuck off  
[707]: Tell me I’m dying!!11!!one!1  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: If only  
[707]: Wanna borrow my car?  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: really?  
[707]: Why not?  Will you tell me what GRAND gesture you have planned?  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: No  
[707] Then you don’t get to borrow my baby  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: You weren’t going to lend me that car, and you can’t keep a fucking secret  
[707]: GASP   


School starts and Yoosung is actually glad about it.  He’s been sick of LOLOL, and Tripter, and facebook.  Sick of the RFA app, sick of watching everyone happy and going on with their lives.  Sick of photos of Zen’s new show, and Jaehee’s new hair-cut, and seeing Saeran in the background, or lurking in the chatroom.  

Weeks of trying to get some response out of him so that he didn’t have to make the first move.  Yoosung had visualized his apology so many times.  He’s happy to get out of his own head, to be in class or to be on the farm or in the clinic, distracted by some of the chaos of maybe actually doing the thing he wants to do for the rest of his life.  

School is a nice reprieve from the hours of thinking about what a coward he is.  From hoarding voicemails and text messages and zooming in on backgrounds of C&R publicity shots.  For the guilty feeling every time he opens the picture Saeran had drawn him.  Maybe not that, it’s the lock screen of his phone.

“Did _you_ draw that?”  She asks, glancing between his hand and the phone.  “Because I’ve been thin-”

“No, my” he pauses, his boyfriend drew it?  Can he still say that?  It seemed like Saeran was moving on, it looked like he had a job?  It didn’t even seem like he lived at the bunker anymore. “My _f-friend_ did?”

He’s doing better in his classes by virtue of novelty, not good mind you, but passable.  Unconcerning.  It’s only a few weeks but Professors he’d had before are smiling and nodding and remembering his name at least.  And he thinks, if he could feel anything he might feel a little pride.  It might have been enough to push another version of him back to the top.

But mostly, he just shuffles through his week, performing adequately enough to get to the days he gets to work with the animals.  The only thing he looks forward to anymore.

Saeyoung calls, and Zen invites him out and Jumin texts.  Jaehee sends him study tips.  Saeran goes on with his life like Yoosung Kim never happened.  He only texts once a week now and Yoosung lets them build up.  There are three sitting unread, waiting for him to feel just bad enough to torture himself with the idea of maybe calling.

That’s when his teacher sends an email that there will be no clinics this week.  And Yoosung decides he might as well.

[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: Did you get it?  
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: Whenever you’re ready to talk   
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: Maybe I was wrong.  I’m sorry Yoosung.  Unless it got, lost?  If you didn’t get it you don’t have to talk to me but please let Saeyoung or Jumin know?  I would like you to at least...nvm just let one of them know if you don’t have it ok?

These are different, an active attempt at interaction.  Yoosung swallows and reads the messages over and over.  What did he get?  Had he gotten something from someone?  When was the last time one of them had even come to his apartment?  Weeks at least, but more or less than three?

Walking through his apartment moving through mud.  He’s not even sure what he’s looking for.  He stops at the bowl with his keys and stares.  Something about them draws his attention, and he can’t figure out why. When was the last time he’d gotten his mail?  Did Saeran _send_ him something?  He got the odd package, a buzzer to his door but the mailbox, nothing went there.  Bills and sometimes a card from his Mom.

He’s running, he’s gone from forcing himself to move his feet to barely touching the ground as he runs to his mailbox.  It’s stuffed full but as he takes the rickety elevator back to his apartment he finds the small envelope in the middle.  Everything else is shoved into his overflowing garbage can. He paid his bills online and his Mom called a few days ago, there’s nothing but this.

This small package, paper and bubblewrap, and Saeran’s careful printing of his name, and his address, and whatever he could feel inside.

All that bluster to get to it and now he’s trapped.  Standing in the middle of his apartment with this package in his hands.  With texts from Saeran that seemed almost worried.  Not the passive understanding distance he’d gotten used to.

He tears the little envelope open and immediately drops it when his phone buzzes in his pocket.  He grabs at the little plastic rectangle as he pulls his phone out his pocket.   _If it’s Saeran I will answer it this time, ask him what this is, and open it with him._ He closes his eyes before he looks at the screen.

It’s Zen. “Hey are you ready?  I’m leaving my place now.”

“You-You’re what?” Yoosung stammers, he’s _relieved_ that he feels disappointed. 

“Dude,” Zen groans, “you can’t back out again, you promised.  Everyone is going to be there.”

Yoosung doesn’t remember promising anything, especially not to go somewhere, especially not with everyone.   _But_ , did everyone include Saeran? “I uh, I _didn’t_ ,” he lies, “I mean I’m not, I just didn’t realize it was _today_?”

“Good,”  Zen says, and Yoosung thinks he doesn’t quite believe him.

Yoosung groans, he begrudgingly sets the thumbdrive inside the bowl he throws his keys in and runs a hand through greasy hair. He needs to shower before he goes anywhere.  Find something clean to wear.

Zen shows up in one of Jumin’s cars, complaining the whole time but Yoosung can see the way he preens when the heads turn to see who is getting out of the fancy sedan.  They’re late, whatever they were supposed to be doing has started in the little bar.  Yoosung can see Saeyoung’s hair at the front of the tables, it’s easy to pick out Jaehee and Jumin once he notices the red head.  

He doesn’t see Saeran at first, Zen offers to grab him a drink and then Yoosung sees him, sitting on the stage with a woman he recognizes from that day in the bunker, his music therapist.  All the confidence from earlier, all his plans to answer the phone and talk to him and finally, _finally_ , end whatever this was he was doing, fly out of his mind.

“We can sit back here,” Zen says quietly.

Yoosung nods, he takes the drink from Zen and follows him to a dark corner.  He’s the worst, he figures.  Zen was going to sit here and take care of him all night, and he wouldn’t complain but he can see the actor wants to be sitting up front, with their friends.

But there is Saeran, sitting on a stool playing a set of what Yoosung _thinks_ are bongos, while the woman beside him plays guitar and sings.  He looked thinner, and on stage he looked more vulnerable than Yoosung remembered.  Perched on the stool looking only at his hands like he could take flight or blow away the moment he looked up.

And then Saeran _does_ look up, and those green eyes he wears like a shield find him and Yoosung Kim runs away.

Saeran knows it’s too soon when he sends the first message but he can’t help himself.  One more week of temping at C&R left and every day reminds him what he left at the post office.  So he sends it, and he knows he won’t hear anything because Yoosung has definitely not gotten it yet but he can’t help the nervous excitement.

He’s confident by week two.  Yoosung Kim is a romantic, and sentimental and Step Two catered to all of that.  He’s confident that the only issue here is getting past Yoosung’s defences.  He’s confident that there is something there still.  That Yoosung is doing what Yoosung always does and hiding deep inside himself under a pile of worst case scenarios.

Week three isn’t confident.  Saeran is back in the bunker, and now he owes Cheong a favor and he’s seen no sign that Yoosung is going to talk to him or even that Yoosung has gotten his gift.  He let’s Saeyoung cook, and he starts setting timers when he sits down to play.  Doesn’t want to get lost in the sting of the strings on his fingers, doesn’t want to fall into old habits.

It’s late when he sends the last text, regretting it immediately, when did he get so soft?

Still he doesn’t hear from Yoosung, and he might not want to eat, he might not be able to stop picking at his cuticles, and he might have chewed the inside of his cheek raw but he was going to get through this thing Cheong had talked him into.

He knows, as he steps up onto the stage while the bar is still empty, that if it gets bad no one will be angry if he leaves.  No one will be mad if he can’t do this.  But he’s determined to do it.  If Yoosung wasn’t going to listen to what he’d put on that thumb drive at least these strangers would listen to something.

His brother, Jumin and Jaehee all take up at a table front and center, and he _almost_ smiles at his brother’s stupid encouraging hand gestures.  He can hear bits and pieces of their conversations, something about Zen running late but as Cheong lays her hand on his shoulder and nods the actor still isn’t sitting in the empty seat next to Jaehee.

Four songs in, watching his fingers drum along the sheepskin and doing everything he can not to look up. If he doesn’t look up he’s sitting in the bunker or the penthouse and this is any other day.  If he doesn’t look up then he doesn’t have to see all those people staring at him.

But he does look up, slowly.  It’s a small bar, it looks packed but he reminds himself it doesn’t take many people to do that, his eyes move past the members of the RFA sitting directly below him and he tries to find a place at the back of the room, somewhere to focus so he doesn’t look as scared as he feels.

He sees Zen at the back of the room, his lips twitch _until_ next to Zen, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff Yoosung is staring at him and his eyes are unreadable.  Saeran hasn’t been this close to him in more than a month.  There is a sea of people between them but his heart is pounding against his chest and then Yoosung pushes away from the table and disappears into the sea of people standing.

No one told him Yoosung was coming and he starts to suspect no one told Yoosung what he was _coming to_.  And he’s mad.  He’s been so careful not to make Yoosung uncomfortable and here these well meaning idiots were doing what?  It’s all he can do not to stand up and throttle the lot of them.

He’s barely holding himself together and Yoosung had looked worn thin, and one or all of them had _ruined_ , whatever he might have been working towards.  Saeran finishes out the song before he taps Cheong on the arm and walks off the stage.  Saeyoung meets him the second he’s off and it’s clear he’s only worried, he doesn’t know, he glances back at the table, simple concern on every face and it makes him sick.

“Hey, you want to go home?” Saeyoung is following him.  He doesn’t know where he’s going, not home yet.  Maybe if he can get himself under control he can finish this thing.

“No,” he says and his tongue feels thick, dry, his mouth sticks together when he speaks.  “Make Zen fucking leave.”

“I- yeah ok, but why?”

“He fucking knows why.”

Saeran pushes through the crowd finding the side door he’d come in through with Cheong, and the bouncer only nods as he walks through.  Cool air hits him like a wall and he gulps it in, almost ignorant of the squeak a few feet away.  He inhales deeply, hands on his knees, head down.  He knows exactly who it is.

He gives him time, moves slowly, he doesn’t think he can stand watching Yoosung run away again.  He hopes if he’s going to he’ll be gone before he opens his eyes.

He’s not.

Yoosung is sitting a few feet away, leaning against the brick of the building, his eyes are wet and he looks like a trapped animal and Saeran’s heart breaks. “I uh, I can go somewhere else, Yoosung it’s ok.”

“Please don’t,” it’s so quiet Saeran almost doesn’t hear it but he can’t take his eyes away from Yoosung, it’s been more than a month, almost two since he’d walked out of that apartment and Yoosung has gained weight where Saeran had lost it.  

Saeran nods.  “I uh, you don’t have to talk to me, but-”

“I haven’t looked yet,” Yoosung says quietly, “I didn’t, I just got it and I didn’t get a chance to.”

Saeran nods.  “No one told you what this was did they?”

Yoosung shakes his head.

“I’m going to fucking Kill Zen.”

Yoosung laughs, it’s pitiful sounding, wet and choked, almost a sob, but it’s not forced and Saeran almost has to cover his mouth from saying every single thing he’s wanted to say for the last month.

He settles for, “Sorry.”

It’s quiet for a long time.  Saeran eventually takes his eyes off Yoosung to look up at the stars.  They sit there in silence, the loneliest Saeran Choi has ever felt next to Yoosung.  Happy none the less that he can be close to him, feeling clearer despite everything.  

“Can,” Yoosung’s voice is thick, when he speaks, “I just, I need a week ok?  I promise I’ll look at the thumb drive and, and if I don’t call you in a week you should call me ok?”

It’s more than Saeran had left to hope for when he’d stepped through that door.  He wants to thank him.  Maybe he should be mad but Saeran feels like the last person to criticize the way someone processes their feelings.  He wants to tell him that he misses him and that he’d wait 3 weeks, or a month or however long Yoosung needs.

When he ventures a peek from the corner of his eye Yoosung is watching him.  He doesn’t say anything and whatever feelings had been on his face before are replaced by something blank.  He hopes the thumb drive is enough as he watches this new sullen version of Yoosung cast a long look in his direction and step into the taxi pulling up to the curb of the street behind the bar.

“Sorry.”

Saeran’s fists clench and he tucks them in his pockets. “Go home Zen.”

The taller man chuckles, “I didn’t realize-”

“Fuck off,” Saeran grunts.  He walks away.  Tomorrow he would find it in himself to not be pissed at Zen.  At least Yoosung had spoken to him. At least he has some hard evidence that Yoosung was just as fucked up as he was.  

No one is more surprised that he doesn’t cry in the taxi than Yoosung.  Saeran had looked so vulnerable, not just on the little stage but leaning against the brick of the building.   Yoosung had never seen Saeran look vulnerable before, even in the hospital or in the middle of an episode, but his eyes had been sunken and he was paler than usual.

Both twins had always been thin, Yoosung had coveted that about Saeyoung, but Saeran looked like he wasn’t eating. Yoosung had never seen him look like that, it hadn’t shown in the photos, or maybe he hadn’t looked for it.  Stuck in his own world convinced Saeran was going on with his life.

Was it his fault?

How must he have looked to Saeran?  Like a stupid child, probably.  He’d lost some weight since school started but the weight he’d gained in those few months, living off ramen and take out, had made his face round, and his shirts tight.  His mother had poked him in the belly and made a comment about how well his girlfriend was feeding him.

He’d forgotten to tell them about Jisu.

He doesn’t look at the thumb drive when he gets home.  He picks it up from the bowl and stares at his computer for a long while before falling into bed fully clothed.  He’ll look at it before class in the morning, he tells himself.

He sleeps late, he’d forgotten to set his alarm.  The drive is still clutched in his hand and he shoves it into his pocket, not bothering to change, not bothering to brush his teeth.  Yoosung grabs his backpack and runs to catch his bus.  His hair has gotten longer and he pulls it out of his face with an old hair tie of Jisu’s from his bag when he can’t find any clips.

He goes to the library the first chance he gets and plugs the drive in.  Finally a moment to see what this is.  He wonders if it’s more drawings, or maybe an incredibly long letter?  Would Saeran make some kind of video diary for him?  He didn’t think so.

It’s audio files, Yoosung digs through his bag for his headphones but only comes up with an old broken pair.  The muffled desperate sound he makes is enough to earn him a few dirty looks.  He doesn’t see anyone he knows and he curses that he has two more classes before he can go home and figure out what those files are.

Except he doesn’t get to go home, study group has started again and when he tries to bow out, tries claim he doesn’t feel well, they ignore him.   _No excuses_ they tell him as they drag him to the cafe they meet at.  He’s almost painfully aware of the drive in his pocket the whole time, completely unable to focus on anything anyone is saying.

He stumbles over his words when they call on him, blushes, mumbles.  If they asked he wouldn’t even be able to tell them _what_ they were studying that night.  It’s only halfway through their usual time when they’re too frustrated to deal with him and send him home.  He’d hug them if he hadn’t forgotten to put on deodorant in his rush that morning.

The bus takes longer than it has any right to, and he practically vibrates in his seat while he waits for his stop.  The thumb drive feels like it weighs a hundred pounds in his pocket.  He feels like he holds the weight of the world, the meaning of life, the number 42.

He skips the elevator, runs up the stairs.  He practically slams his door open and jumps when it clatters against the wall.  There’s one other person in the hallway, he glances over his shoulder and smiles awkwardly unsure if he should apologise but they continue wherever they were going with a shake of their head.

He makes sure his headset is plugged in and working before he plugs the drive in and opens it.  There are thirteen files, all of them named in some default way that doesn’t seem to represent what they are.  It strikes Yoosung as such a _Saeran_ thing to do, whatever he’d put on this drive seemed pretty important but he hadn’t even _thought_ to name the files.

Yoosung plays the first file.  There’s dead air for a moment, a shuffling sound, then a guitar starts.  Yoosung vaguely recognizes the song, and it’s a full thirty seconds before he realizes that it’s Saeran singing.  It’s not quite an angry song, passive aggressive almost. Something between anger and hope in the lyrics.  Someone is singing with Saeran, there’s drums.  Yoosung wonders how many people Saeran involved in this project.

He opens the second file, not a song he recognizes but it’s obvious, as he goes through every song on the drive, that Saeran has picked each one carefully, that he didn’t do this himself, that not just one but many people helped him with this.  Yoosung has never seen Saeran ask for help, he didn’t even like to accept help when it was freely offered.

He recognizes the third song from Moulin Rouge, and Yoosung can remember how still he’d sat while Saeran sang it into his hair that night.  By the fifth song Yoosung is crying.  There were songs where all Yoosung recognized were the words, songs he hadn’t heard before, all of them performed by Saeran and occasionally another person.  He copies the songs to his phone and listens to them on repeat all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have spotify and you were wondering what was on the thumbdrive [I made a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/katskurai/playlist/2zpAsmu8ILOMXZMvVheX7q)


	12. Chapter 12

Yoosung listens to the songs Saeran had recorded on his way to his class in the morning, and then during lunch. He listens to them on the way home and while he plays video games.  He listens to them on the way to the clinic in the morning and every free moment he has during the day.  Yoosung is so fixated on listening to the songs from the thumbdrive, feels so much better about everything, so close to Saeran that he forgets to  _ actually  _ call him.

The long shift at the clinic was over almost a half hour ago but Yoosung has one headphone in, helping out with a great big goof of a Malamute that’s terrified of having it’s nails trimmed when he notices a commotion in the waiting room. He runs his fingers through the animal's thick fur and whispers soothing words while he tries to focus on whatever is causing the excitement.  Between the panting nervous pup, the thick walls, and music in his ear he can’t really make out anything.

The next shift of students is filing in when he’s getting his bag from the staff room and he overhears one girl, “-he’s cute though, I mean don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” another person nods, “is he here for someone or just like, is it a publicity thing?”

“What if he’s homeless?”

“I think that was his car, it looked too nice for a homeless guy.”

Yoosung glances around wondering if anyone can hear the way his heart is pounding, it sounds so _ loud  _ to him.  He tries not to run to the parking lot as one of them argues that maybe whoever it is  _ lives _ in their car.  Yoosung knows exactly who it is in the parking lot.  Even before he catches sight of him through the window.

Saeran knew Yoosung wouldn’t call right away, he thought maybe he would wait the whole week.  Maybe it would take him the whole week to work up the balls to listen to the songs on the drive.  So he starts forming Step Three.  He’s not going to give Yoosung another week.  He’d gone back inside after Zen had left, not back on stage but he did sit with his brother and Jumin and watched the rest of Cheong’s set.

He even smiled at the nervous way Jaehee had offered to buy her a drink before he and Saeyoung had left.

[Zen]: Hey, you know I didn’t mean for that right?   
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: Ya   
[Zen]: Everyone is just sick of the two of you moping around.   
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: oh my god   
[Zen]: So sorry, you know?     
[xxx-xxx-xxxx]: Ya, ok, fine shut up   
[Zen]: haha ok

The moment had passed to be angry with Zen.  He considers thanking him but he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing his stupid trick worked.  

The first thing Saeran does is go shopping, he needs to fix his hair and he’s going to try to buy something like he’d used at Yoosung’s apartment.  So he goes on a mission and then he spends a whole day in the bathroom at the bunker, entirely certain he’s fucked it all up. 

He starts cooking again, actually eating more than once a day and on the third day he joins Zen at the gym for the first time in weeks.  Neither of them mention Yoosung.  He practices.  Sure he’d put everything into those songs on the drive, sure he’d called in favors from both Jumin and Cheong, but there was one song he wanted to play for Yoosung in person.

Sure it was on the drive, and sure he knew it but he wanted to make sure he didn’t fuck this up.  He was going to surprise Yoosung, and Yoosung was going to like it.  It had to be perfect.

It had to be perfect but nothing ever really is he realizes.  He’s sitting outside the clinic he knows his  _ maybe _ boyfriend was supposed to be walking out of 10 minutes ago.  It’s a long song, he figures, leaning against his brother’s red car with the children’s acoustic guitar and it’s flower stickers slung over his shoulder.  He should just start it, Yoosung will come out any minute now.

He gets through the song twice without seeing hide nor hair of Yoosung Kim.  People with kittens in carriers, people with big fluffy dogs, and little yipping things, walk in and out of the clinic, a few birds and reptiles and maybe a rat. He almost stops playing to ask if he can pet one woman’s chinchilla. 

But he keeps playing, he can see more students going in too, walking past him slowly before they turn and go through a different door.  He watches that door intently, starting up his third play through before he’s pretty sure he can see Yoosung hovering on the other side of the door.

Saeran sings a little louder and takes a few steps away from the car.  The door opens and someone pushes past the person he knows is Yoosung Kim and he watches blonde hair and purple eyes blinking in the late afternoon sun.  Yoosung is wearing scrubs over a longsleeved shirt, he’s covered in animal hair and he’s pulled his bangs back with a hair tie instead of clipping them to the side.

He likes it.  He likes everything he sees in front of him.  The slight roundness to Yoosung’s face that he hadn’t quite been able to fully appreciate the last time he’d seen him.  The way his scrubs pulled just a little tight at his belly.  The nervous way he chewed his lip while he listened to Saeran sing to him.  The way his eyes sparkled just a bit as he fought tears that Saeran  _ hoped  _  were happy.

Saeran walks towards him slowly, he looks him in his big lavender eyes and doesn’t fight the stupid smile that spreads across his lips.  When Yoosung smiles back he almost drops the guitar, almost stops singing, all he wants to do in the moment is grab his boyfriend by his newly chubby cheeks and cover him in every kiss he’s ever wanted to give him.

But he doesn’t, because he is stubborn, and determined and Yoosung Kim has made him wait so long already.

Saeran’s face is red when his finishes.  He swings the guitar behind him on it’s strap and takes two more steps to stand directly in front of Yoosung.  He glances around as he reaches for one of Yoosung’s hands, watches the few people in the parking lot until they’ve gone into the building or gotten into their cars.  Yoosung watches him, fingers entwining with Saeran’s and holding tight.

When the parking lot is empty but for the two of them Saeran gives his hand a little tug and Yoosung stumbles forward into him.  He wraps his arms around Yoosung and buries his face in his neck.  He inhales; sweat, and animal smells, the sweet smell of Yoosung’s shampoo.  Yoosung holds him too, burying his nose in Saeran’s hair.

“I missed you,” he whispers into his boyfriend’s neck.

“You’re hair’s pink,” Yoosung says.

Saeran steps back and laughs. “What?”

“I-I missed you too!” Yoosung adds, “I just, you added the pink again.”

Saeran blushes, “You uh, said you thought it looked good once so I-”

“It does,” Yoosung says quickly, “I do. I, I missed you a lot. I’m sorry I’m an idiot.”

“I forgive you for being a fucking idiot,” Saeran tries to scowl but he can’t will his face to stop smiling.  “Saeyoung is an idiot too and I still love him.”

“What?” 

Saeran blushes.  “I uh, I love you?”

Yoosung grabs him by the collar of his flannel shirt and drags him into a kiss.  Practically crushing Saeran against him, practically pulling the breath from Saeran’s lungs.

“W-what was that for?” Saeran says when he can breathe again.

“I, um I love you, uh too,” Yoosung says, suddenly shy.

They take a step apart as a car pulls into the parking lot and Saeran gestures for Yoosung to get into his car. “I usually drive the normal one,” he says slipping behind the wheel, “but Saeyoung said this was your favorite?”

Yoosung blushes, smiling that wide bright smile Saeran had missed and tugging at his sleeves. “It uh, yeah it is,” he laughs nervously, “Saeyoung remembers that?”

Saeran shrugs, “He never forgets fucking anything, it’s infuriating.”

Yoosung laughs a genuine bubbly laugh that melts Saeran’s heart.  He’d forgotten how much he loved the sound of Yoosung laughing.  

“Do uh, do you want to get something to eat or do you want to go home?” Saeran asks reluctantly, not wanting to interrupt him.

“Oh!” Yoosung chirps, “I guess I forgot to change before I came out huh?”

“What stopped you?” Saeran asks with a lopsided grin.

Yoosung snorts. “Some of my classmates were talking about the cute homeless guy singing in the parking lot and I realized they were talking about  _ my boyfriend.” _

“The  _ what _ ?” Saeran scoffs.

“They thought you lived in the car,” Yoosung chuckles.

Saeran blushes.  “You knew it was me?”

“I-I uh, I suspected, I mean you’d r-recorded those songs, and I realized I still hadn’t called, and I  _ meant _ to, oh my g-god I’m sorry I meant to call I’ve been listening to the songs for two whole days. Oh no!”  Yoosung covers his face and from the corner of his eye Saeran can see the pink blush peeking over his fingertips.

“Wait, you’ve been listening to the songs this whole time?” Saeran asks softly.

Yoosung doesn’t uncover his face, he only nods.

“Wow, you’re a mess, Yoosung,” Saeran laughs but he’s blushing too.  

“W-we can stop somewhere to eat though,” Yoosung says quickly.  “I’ll uh, I’ll just change my pants in the bathroom there.  I’m covered in dog hair. It’s fine.”

“Why don’t we order take out and go to,” he pauses, “your place?”

Yoosung nods and Saeran watches him from the corner of his eye as the conversation dies to a comfortable silence.  It feel natural being just the two of them again.  He expects Yoosung to wait in the car when he pulls into the little family owned take out spot but he follows him in.  

Yoosung stands a little too close to be inconspicuous, his hand brushing against Saeran’s and Saeran hooks his pinky around Yoosung’s as they step up to the counter.  Saeran orders, he doesn’t ask what Yoosung wants or hesitate looking at the menu.  He orders and he pays without unhooking his pinky from Yoosung’s and when they get back to the car, one over stuffed bag of takeout each, Yoosung hesitates.

“I don’t want to let go,” he says softly.  “What if I let go and this is a dream and I wake up and it’s just another day where I’m too stupid to call you?”

“You’re not stupid.”

“Stop it,” Saeran expects Yoosung to whine but instead he sounds  _ frustrated _ .

“Let’s just get home ok?” He takes Yoosung’s whole hand in his and squeezes before he lets go to get in the car.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”  Yoosung asks ducking into the passenger’s seat and hugging the takeout bag to his chest.

“I’m just glad you’re fucking talking to me again,” Saeran shrugs.

“You should be mad at me,” he says quietly, staring intently at the desk.

“Do you  _ want _ me to be mad at you, Yoosung?”

“I blew the whole thing out of proportion, you were just doing what you were told and I acted like a baby, and then I was too embarrassed to admit it, and afraid and you-you’re just here b-being so  _ nice _ and you’re-”

“Not nice?” Saeran chuckles.

“ _ See _ ?” Yoosung groans.

“It wasn’t a fucking small thing, Yoosung,” Saean says.  “You had every right to be pissed off.”

“I should have called you,” he says quietly, “aren’t you mad I didn’t?”

“Yeah,” Saeran snorts, “I was mad.”

“ _ So _ ,” Yoosung almost shouts, “be mad, stop being nice to me!”

Saeran is quiet for a while.  He watches Yoosung in his peripheral while he finds parking.  When they’ve finally parked Saeran takes off his seatbelt and turns to face Yoosung, who is red faced still staring intently at the dash of the car.  “Do you really need to do this?” He says.

Yoosung nods but doesn’t look at him.

“I was ok at first,” Saeran says, “I mean I wasn’t fine, I fucking worried about you because you’re an idiot and I did some stupid shit.  Then two weeks went by and I was pissed the fuck off,” he pries Yoosung’s hand off the take out and squeezes, “I couldn’t do shit to cope because I fucked up my fingers but I have group, and I have Rhee, and Cheong, and I didn’t get to hide in a fucking apartment all by my goddamned self and wallow so I got the fuck over it.”

“But you didn’t come here to stop me,” Yoosung says it’s soft but accusatory.

“Yeah well,” he looks away but he doesn’t let go of his hand, “you were still looking at my texts and you weren’t fucking calling me back and I-I  _ was _ mad and well you have the drawing and the thumb drive so you know what I did when my hands healed.”

Yoosung blushes and tugs at his sleeve again. “Sorry.”

He shrugs.  “I know I’m not a fucking shining beacon of mental health or anything but you know you could ask Jumin or V about finding someone to talk to Yoosung.”

“Yeah I guess,” he says still fumbling with his sleeve.

“Did you uh,” Saeran says blushing a little when they’ve gotten out of the car, “I mean I know you liked the songs but did you  _ like _ the drawing?”

Yoosung jumps a little, fumbles the takeout in his arms and makes a noise that is almost a squeak. “I-I uh, it’s well, it’s beautiful b-but-”

“I know,” Saeran smiles and bumps his shoulder as they make their way up the stairs to Yoosung’s apartment, “you probably aren’t ever going to actually get a tattoo, but I remember you had asked me that night.”

“N-no,” Yoosung stammers as the crest the stairs.  “It’s not that.”

Saeran watches him as he shifts the bag of takeout to get his keys, there’s a strange sort of silence between them as they approach his apartment.  There’s something Yoosung wants to say but Saeran can’t tell what.  Yoosung shifts his back to Saeran when he reaches for the lock and Saeran is left trying to decipher his body language.

“Did you,” Saeran asks, unable to stop his mind from wandering once they’re inside the apartment, “you know I won’t be mad or anything, if you saw someone else or something?”

He doesn’t want it to be true and it’ll hurt more than two months of radio silence ever did but he’d understand, he hopes.

“ _ What _ ?” Yoosung does squeak this time. “Did I-Saeran what?  No I barely left my apartment.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and presses a firm but chaste kiss to Yoosung’s lips, holding him tightly against him, he runs his hand along Yoosung’s side, enjoying the new softer Yoosung before he rests his forehead against his shoulder. “Good, I don’t think I’d really be ok with it.”

Yoosung laughs and presses a kiss to Saeran’s temple. “It’s just that-”

“ _ Shit _ ,” Saeran whispers, “you um, you  _ were _ hiding something then?”

Yoosung takes a step away, he’s blushing and there's an embarrassed smile on his face.  “I am but it’s n-nothing like th-that!  It’s just you uh, you sent the drawing  _ too late _ .”  Saeran watches Yoosung pull up the sleeve he’d been fiddling with and turn his arm to present a small [tattoo](http://i.imgur.com/b4cPgRP.png) covering the inside of his wrist.

Saeran runs his thumb over the watercolour galaxy on Yoosung’s wrist. “I was on the right page at least,” he smiles.

“You’re not-”

“Mad?”  Saeran laughs, “Yoosung it’s your body I didn’t expect you to get it just because I drew it, I’m just glad it looks like I at least drew something you’d like.”

“Some of the people in my Animal Science class got them to celebrate and I thought it might, I dunno make me call you, and then you sent the picture a few days later.  It’s uh, it’s Sirius, the dog star? Is that stupid?”

Saeran gets them dishes while he tries not to laugh at the situation.  “It’s not,” he says when he’s sure he can speak without laughing, “it suits you.”

When he turns around with plates in his hands Yoosung pulls him into another quick kiss, as if to make sure he’s real.  Holding Saeran against him with the plates held out wide so as not to break them.  

Yoosung changes and they eat. Saeran sends his brother a text to let him know he won’t be home that night.  Yoosung laughs when Saeran immediately turns both their phones off, to avoid whatever responses Saeyoung might have.  They talk, about everything they should have talked about that day, about everything they’d done while they were apart.  

They laugh at the stupid advice their friends had given them. They spoon on Yoosung’s little couch and watch Moulin Rogue again and this time Saeran pulls Yoosung up to dance when Your Song comes on.  It’s just the two of them standing in the middle of Yoosung’s living room holding one another and swaying and Yoosung kisses him softly before they both collapse on the couch for the rest of the film.

Yoosung doesn’t comment when Saeran turns the movie off just before the ending.

There are kisses, so many kisses.  Chaste kisses to make up for all the ones they’d missed, kisses on temples and shoulders and foreheads and noses.  There are deeper kisses, kisses with soft gentle caresses and wandering hands.  Desperate kisses, shirts clenched in fists, hips grinding together leaving them breathless.

Yoosung can barely let Saeran out of his sight for fear he’ll disappear, and Yoosung will wake up from this dream and have to go on too trapped in his own head to get back to this place.  

When they eventually fall into Yoosung’s bed they’re both so exhausted from the emotional highs and lows of the day that they simply curl around one another and fall asleep.

He’s not sure where he is when he wakes up, the blurred wall in front of him isn’t familiar, the hand on his stomach dipping below the band of his underwear startles him and for a very brief moment he thinks he’s back in the castle.  

Then Yoosung sighs softly and blond hair shifts against his chest and he remembers that he’s in Yoosung’s apartment.  They’d  _ finally _ talked, things were getting back to normal.  He relaxes, brushes his fingers along Yoosung’s exposed back and he shifts, throws his leg over Saeran’s.  

Yoosung’s hand wanders, fingers dancing under Saeran’s shirt.  They brush up his side, linger on his chest and trail gently down to his navel.  Yoosung sighs again shifting to brush his hips against Saeran’s thigh and presses his face into his shoulder.

Saeran bites his lip as a soft moan escapes Yoosung.  God that sound did things to him but he’s not even sure Yoosung is awake.  Saeran wants to pull Yoosung on top of him, wants to press hands into his boxers and grab his ass so hard it bruises while he grinds up against him, suffocating him with kisses. He wants to-

Yoosung’s hand presses past the band of his boxer briefs and a fingers strokes his length before Yoosung takes him in his hand and gently strokes. “Are you up,” he whispers.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and an Epilogue. Also there is a link embedded because hey I also drew the tattoo Yoosung actually got, if you missed it you can see it [Here](http://i.imgur.com/b4cPgRP.png)


	13. Chapter 13

Saeran swallows, he tries to answer but when he opens his mouth a strangled moan is the only sound he can make.

Yoosung shifts to straddle Saeran’s leg and smiles up at him, the blanket still draped over his back as he drags Saeran’s boxer briefs down over his hips.  Saeran can see Yoosung’s cock pressing against the fabric of his boxers and all the things he wants to do to Yoosung Kim flash in his mind.

He want’s to pull Yoosung up on his chest and swallow his cock, tease him until he begs to cum, he wants grab him by his shaggy blond hair and force his own cock into Yoosung’s mouth and fuck his face until there are tears streaming down his full cheeks, he wants to watch Yoosung ride him, use him like a toy and fuck himself to completion.

Saeran props himself up on one elbow and pulls Yoosung into a salacious kiss, hoping he can convey his thoughts with the press of his tongue.  Yoosung opens his mouth, taking Saeran’s dick in his hand and strokes Saeran’s tongue in time with his hand before abruptly breaking the kiss to lean over to his bedside table.

Dazed, Saeran doesn’t see what his boyfriend retrieves. He barely has a moment to recover from the kiss before Yoosung dips his head to take him in his mouth.  Dragging his tongue along the length of Saeran’s cock, teeth teasing as he draws back and smiles up at him.

“H-holy shit Yoosung,” Saeran pants but he doesn’t get to say anything else as the blond swallows him again tongue working cheeks hollowing, Saeran flops back against the mattress, twisting the sheets in his fists as he moans.

He’s not sure which is hotter, Yoosung grinding on his leg while he moans around the dick in his mouth or the desperate way he’s sucking his cock.

“Y-Yoosung,” he whines, “shit, nng, slow down.”  He forces himself to sit up, to push Yoosung back and make him stop.  “Mmm, you gotta slow down Star-Child.”

His purple eyes are determined as he stares back at his boyfriend and Saeran takes the moment to grab the hem of Yoosung’s tshirt, pull it up and over his head.  That’s when Yoosung’s confidence waivers.  He slouches, presses his face into Saeran’s neck and pulls the blanket pooled around his hips up around them.

Saeran lets him have a moment. He draws Yooung’s leg to straddle him properly. He runs a hand over the round cheeks of Yoosung’s ass and gives a small appreciative squeeze that draws a sigh from his boyfriend’s lips.  Then he lays back against the pillows taking a clinging Yoosung with him.

He lets Yoosung keep him trapped in the blanket for now. Saeran takes him by the chin and makes him look at him, kissing him slowly, taking control. He teases Yoosung’s soft lips open and lets his tongue lazily explore his mouth.

He keeps his hands firmly on Yoosung’s hips and when Yoosung moans into his mouth he raises his hips and feels Yoosung’s thighs squeeze around him as he grinds down against him.

“Mmm, Yoosung can I look at you?” he says softly.

Yoosung presses his face back into Saeran’s neck, dragging his tongue across his adams apple and nipping at his ear, “do you have to?” he whines.

Saeran traces the shell of Yoosung’s ear with his tongue, sucking the lobe into his mouth and teasing it with his teeth as Yoosung’s hips grind against him again, another delicious moan spilling from his lips. “I want to.”

He feels the blanket around them loosen and he pushes Yoosung up, watching the blanket slip from his shoulders.  Saeran pulls his own shirt up over his head and tosses it over the edge of the bed before he takes Yoosung in.

Yoosung had never been small like Saeran, as long as he’d known him he’d been soft, now there was a visible roundness to his belly that Saeran leans forward to press a kiss to.  A softness to his chest that hadn’t been there before, Saeran runs his hand across Yoosung’s chest with a soft hum, stopping to roll his nipple between calloused fingers. 

He’s rewarded with a soft groan and an arching of Yoosung’s back.

“I like it,” he says with a nod and starts to shove at Yoosung’s boxers.  Yoosung obliges, shifting to one side and disposing of the offending article of clothing. “I like your belly, and your chest, and your arms, and god I fucking love your ass.” Saeran smirks, giving Yoosung a playful slap on his backside as he moves to straddle his hips again.

He yelps and blushes.  He runs his hands along Saeran’s thighs, up his sides and stops to bend and swirl his tongue around the smaller man’s nipples.  Saeran sighs and buries a hand in Yoosung’s bed head dragging him up for another kiss.

Softer this time, slow and teasing, his fingers comb through Yoosung’s hair, his tongue teases Yoosung’s bottom lip while Yoosung’s fingers dance along Saeran’s hips.  

“God I want to lay here and do this all fucking day,” Saeran groans when they part.

“I uh, I don’t have class today,” Yoosung pants, cheeks pink.

Saeran smirks. “Good boy,” he says softly, combing fingers through Yoosung’s hair and watching the blush in his cheeks darken.

“You’re t-teasing me,” Yoosung stutters when Saeran reaches between them to cup his balls.

“Mmhmm, you like it though,” Saeran says dragging his tongue along Yoosung’s collar bone.

“I hng, uh, hah,  _ maybe _ ,” Yoosung agrees as Saeran moves to suck a mark on his neck.

“Alright tough guy,” Saeran chuckles, “you started this, and you obviously had a plan, what do you want to do?”

Yoosung ducks his head and rummages around the bed beside them, he holds up a bottle of lube and a condom but he doesn’t say anything.

“Hmm, that doesn’t answer my question Cutie,” Saeran coos, reaching for Yoosung’s chin and making him look him in the eye.  “The confidence was fucking hot, tell me what you want Yoosung.”

“S-sex,” Yoosung whispers, shifting his eyes away from Saeran.

“Yeah dummy,” Saeran snorts, “I figured that part out.” He let’s go and lays back with his hands behind his head.

“I, uh I want you to uh, to you know,” Saeran grins and raises an eyebrow. “God I want you to f-fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Saeran asks softly, he’d been half expecting that answer but finds himself surprised. “Are you sure,” he asks, “it’s your first time doing this right?  You don’t have to you can-”

“I want to!” Yoosung insists shaking his head.  “I’ve uh, you know,” he wiggles his fingers at Saeran and covers his face.

Saeran sits back up and wraps his arms around him pressing kisses to his neck. “It’s going to be different than that, you know that right?”

Yoosung nods.

“H-have you thought about how you want to do it?” Saeran asks, suddenly nervous. It’s not as though  _ he _ hadn't done this before.  Not even that this was the first time since Mint Eye, there had been a few nameless flings in rehab.  This was different, this was  _ Yoosung. _

“I uh, I don’t, um,” Yoosung chews on his lip for a moment before he looks Saeran in the eye, “c-can I be on top?”

Saeran nods slowly, the idea of Yoosung fucking him causing his brain to short circuit for a minute before a thought forces itself out. “You said, uh, were they  _ your _ fingers?”

Yoosung blushes and nods.

“Oh  _ god _ ,” Saeran groans. “Can, uh can I watch you finger yourself before you ride me?”

Yoosung’s whole body goes red as he nods slowly.  Saeran presses a quick kiss to the corner of Yoosung’s mouth as he grabs the condom out of his hand and settles back to watch.

He’s nervous, fumbling with the bottle of lube before he can get it open to coat his fingers.  Saeran wants to ask him to lean back, to expose himself more so he can see the finger slip in but they have so much more time for things like that.  He settles for the watching the way he bites his lip, the way his brow furrows, the soft sound he makes as his finger pushes inside of his ass.

Saeran leans forward to press kisses down Yoosung’s chest and whisper praise in his ear.  He watches as Yoosung’s other hand reaches to squeeze at his balls and stroke at his cock and finds himself absently stroking his own. 

“Hey Star-Child,” he coos, “try another finger.”

Yoosung nods and Saeran finds himself reaching to push Yoosung’s hand away from his cock to stroke it himself.

“Good boy,” he whispers against Yoosung’s neck, tongue and teeth on skin and Yoosung moans. He leans back again and watches Yoosung pitch forward, catching himself on Saeran’s thigh as his hips jerk.  Saeran licks his lips, “does it feel good,” he asks rolling the condom over the head of his cock.

Yoosung groans and nods his head.

“Do you think you’re ready?” Saeran whispers, voice thick.

Yoosung nods again, looking up at Saeran, lip caught between his teeth.

Saeran leans forward and covers his mouth in a hungry kiss, he tangles one hand in Yoosung’s hair and tugs while he wraps the other around his cock, Yoosung’s hips jerk into Saeran’s fist and another moan spills past his lips.

“P-please,” Yoosung whines, fingers pumping in and out of himself.

“One more finger ok?” Saeran says reaching for the bottle of lube.

Yoosung visibly swallows and Saeran spreads lube over his own dick while he watches Yoosung grip the sheets and duck his head with a whine as he slips a third finger inside of himself.  He leans back, propped up in his elbows, he almost wants to draw this out.  Give Yoosung more directions and watch him take himself apart before he fucks him.

God those  _ sounds _ bubbling past Yoosung’s pretty lips were too much. “Okay Star-Child,” Saeran says drawing needy purple eyes to his own. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Yoosung nods and sucks in his lip, he climbs up to straddle Saeran’s hips eagerly and then pauses. “I uh, I’m not sure-”

Saeran leans forward and gives him a quick kiss, he takes himself in hand and lines up with Yoosung entrance and nods raising his hips to press against the tight muscle and nod. “Just press down, love, go as slowly as you need.

Yoosung does as he’s told and Saeran wraps a hand around the back of his neck as he lowers himself down, agonizingly slow.  He sucks his lip into his mouth again and presses his forehead to Saeran’s. 

“Good, Yoosung,” Saeran coos, “you’re doing so w-well. G-god you feel so fucking hnng g-good.”  He waits until Yoosung has fully settled onto him and lays back. “How do you feel.”

“It’s uh, it’s  _ weird _ .”

Saeran nods. “You can move whenever you’re ready, and we can stop whenever you want ok?”

Yoosung nods, he rolls his hips experimentally and makes a face.

“Bad?” Saeran asks, stifling a moan.

“N-no,” Yoosung shakes his head and does it again, this time Saeran can’t stop the moan and Yoosung smirks, “it’s better when you do that.”

“Fuck off,” Saeran whispers and throws an arm over his face as Yoosung does it again.

Yoosung leans forward and trails kisses along Saeran’s collarbone and up his neck, and Saeran waits while he adjusts, gets used to the feel of something bigger than his fingers inside of him.  Yoosung draws up on his knees slowly and presses back down while Saeran does his best to keep still.  Let him figure it out.

He adjusts and does it again and Saeran whines.  He knows if he moves his arm Yoosung would be smiling smugly at him for that.  Then he does it again and-

“Nng, god, sh-shit,” Yoosung drawls lifting his hips to chase whatever spot he’d just managed to stroke. “Mmm, god S-Saeran,” he whines.

“Mmm, feels good?” Saeran manages, letting his arm fall to his side and trail along Yoosung’s thigh.

Yoosung nods and braces his hands on Saeran’s chest to do it again, another broken moan pushing past as Saeran raises his hips to meet him, “oh my god,” he groans.

He watches him, the way he undulates his hips, the way his chest flushes and his mouth falls open. He watches unfocused lavender eyes, pupils blow wide with pleasure.  He lifts his hips to meet him and revels in the broken moans spilling past Yoosung’s lips.

Saeran pushes himself up taking Yoosung’s ass in his hands causing the other man to falter and swallows another groan as he covers his mouth in a sloppy kiss.  Yoosung picks up the pace pressing closer to Saeran, chasing the friction of his dick trapped between them.  Their mouths meet teeth and tongues and swallowed gasps as Yoosung’s hips crash against Saeran.

He doesn’t even realise he’s doing it until Yoosung makes a startled noise, but Saeran is already on his knees, pressing Yoosung back against the mattress.  “I’m hng,  _ fuck _ , is th-this ok?” He asks.

Yoosung nods as Saeran pulls back and presses into him, resting over him on one arm and trailing kisses along his jaw. “Saeran,” he whines, “please I’m s-so close.”

Saeran nods, “Mmm, g-go ahead.”

He hesitates for a moment before he moves to grip his own dick and Saeran leans back to watch him. 

“Hng, S-Saer-oh sh-hit,” he pants only a few stroke in and so close.  Just the sounds he's making as he writhes below him are enough to pull him over the edge but he waits.

“God,” Saeran groans. “What f-fucking right do you have to do this to me?”

“S-Saeran, please,” Yoosung whines and Saeran knows he’s close too.

“You, hah, you want to cum?”

Yoosung nods and Saeran pushes his hand away, replacing it with his own, pumping him in time with his thrusts, “G-god you’re tight, f-fuck.”

“Nnhg,  _  please,”  _ he begs and Saeran increases his pace.

“You’re so patient Star-Child, so well behaved, mmng such a,  _ hah _ g-good boy, Yoosung.”

Yoosung cries out, his hips buck and Saeran buries his head in Yoosung’s neck whispering praises as he feels him tighten around him, hips stuttering, praise turning to curses as he find his own orgasm and collapses on top of him.

They lay there, panting and spent, content in their sweaty heaving pile, arms wrapped around one another pressing lazy kisses to whatever piece of skin is closest to them.  Yoosung wants to stay here all day exploring all the ways they can do this, discovering all the sounds his can draw out of Saeran.  He wants to hear his name shouted alongside curses and moans of pleasure. 

To revel in all the ways Saeran can make him unravel.

He fights a small whine when Saeran shifts to lay beside him. “Can we just stay in bed all day?” Saeran whines tangling their fingers together.

“Why can’t we?” Yoosung pouts, he can feel the way Saeran’s body shifts and tenses, he knows he’s trying to talk himself into getting up.

“Because we need to clean up, and eat,” Saeran laughs.  

Yoosung makes a soft sound of complaint and rolls over to pull Saeran into him when he tries to get up. “I don’t care, we can be gross and hungry together,” he grumbles into his boyfriend’s back.

Saeran laughs, but he relaxes into Yoosung, content to be  _ gross and hungry _ for a moment longer.

“I wish we could take a bath together,” Yoosung mumbles against his back and Saeran stiffens for a second.

“ _ Maybe _ ,” he starts, noncommittal, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

Yoosung whines but watches Saeran dig through the pockets of the jeans he’d draped over the dresser the night before and shrug then disappear out of the room.  There’s a small whoop from the living area and Saeran comes back with what looks like a travel bottle of edvil held out triumphantly in front of him.

“What?” Yoosung laughs, “am I giving you a headache?”

“No,” Saeran laughs sitting down next to him. “It’s Xanax and a few of my other meds I can take in an emergency.” he trails off for a minute, “I guess I’ll have to turn my phone back on and ask Saeyoung to bring me the rest of my pills if you really want to spend the day here?”

“I, uh yeah, please,” Yoosung smiles brightly at him. “But why were you so excited?”

Saeran’s eyes darken for a moment when he looks at Yoosung, “I mean, if- uh if we’re dating I  _ should _ probably try to get used to your shower right?” he rubs at the back of his neck and picks at the label on the bottle.  “I mean it doesn’t have to be today, there’s no guarantee I won’t have an episode since I’m a dose behind but,” he trails off but Yoosung scoots closer and wraps his arms around Saeran’s waist he finds his words again. “It’s just I’ve been here enough times.  In  _ theory _ I should be able to take these and it might be tense but I  _ should _ be alright.”

“You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” Yoosung says quickly.

“Yoosung I want to take a fucking bath with you, okay?  You just, are you prepared to deal with me if it doesn’t go  _ well _ ?”

“O-of course!”  Yoosung says earnestly squeezing him tighter.

“Are you?” Saeran asks, unable to shake the serious turn the conversation had taken. “I mean not just if I freak out in the bathroom.  I-I love you, and if you love me too and we do  _ this _ ,” he gestures widely between them, “that’s a fucking lot, Yoosung?  I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t deal with it.”

“I love you too,” Yoosung frowns, “all of you, even the parts that aren’t fun or are kind of scary.  I love  _ you _ .”

“Even if my meds stop working?  Even when I’m manic and I hurt myself?  What if I try to hurt you?”

“You haven’t before,” Yoosung interjects.

“It doesn’t mean it won’t fucking happen Yoosung, Jesus Christ, I’ve hurt Saeyoung so many times, are you really saying you want to fucking deal with that?”

“Yeah,” Yoosung shrugs.  He seems so self assured, Saeran is having a hard time believing him.  He opens his mouth to argue but Yoosung doesn’t let him. “I didn’t see you at first but I’ve seen you pretty bad, maybe one day you’ll hurt me during an episode, maybe you won’t we can deal with that  _ if _ it happens.”

“ _ Yoosung _ ,” Saeran can’t believe there are tears in  _ his _ eyes when Yoosung looks so calm he’s never seen him look so serious before. “It will be so much worse than Jisu.”

Yoosung shrugs. “I didn’t love her the way I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last chapter but I have a really short epilogue to go up tomorrow.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guess what here's a super short epilogue?

Months pass, Yoosung does better in school and one morning they wake up to both their phones blaring, Yoosung’s door buzzer being held down, and an insistent knocking on the door.  Saeyoung and Zen are waiting, unprompted, to move Saeran’s things into Yoosung’s small apartment.

Yoosung’s love doesn’t cure him, but it keeps him on top of his symptoms, he stops his ECT therapy, and he’s able to stop his group sessions.  More months pass and Saeran starts going to study group with Yoosung, they join a game night with some of Yoosung’s friends from school and Saeyoung forges enough papers to give Saeran a chance of getting into SKY U’s art program as a sophomore.

The school is hesitant, Saeran has a criminal record but the teacher he’d requested to mentor him vouches for him. She accepts responsibility for him with the caveat that he be her TA when the time comes.  He agrees wholeheartedly.  Saeran temps for Jumin to make the money to pay for his own school supplies and a downpayment on a slightly larger apartment for him and Yoosung.  

Nine months after their reunion Saeran is in the shower when Yoosung peaks around the curtain, “Stop screaming,” the blonde smiles.

“I wasn’t screaming, you do this every morning, I’m not a fucking meme.”

Yoosung shrugs, “Have you seen my contacts?  All I can find are yours.”

Saeran laughs, “You haven’t gone back for more have you?”

Yoosung groans and covers his face, “Oh no, I forgot to make an appointment!”

“I keep telling you, you’re too forgetful for weeklies, they give you too many at once.”

“You’re  _ mean _ ,” Yoosung whines pulling the curtain aggressively shut only to yank it back again, “Have you uh, seen my glasses then?  We’re already running late.”

Saeran laughs and splashes water at Yoosung who pouts. “Why do I love you again?”

Yoosung cocks his head and frowns, “I think it’s because I’m cute, and kind, and put up with you.”

Saeran grins, that signature Choi grin that Yoosung both loves and hates.  He leans forward and lays a quick peck on Yoosung’s nose.  “I think it’s the way you suck my dick,” he winks and Yoosung blushes.

He doesn’t close the curtain before he pretends to storm away.

“ _ Wait _ , Saeran calls after him, “I was wrong it’s definitely got more to do with your ass!”

Yoosung groans and slams the bathroom door.

They take the train to the restaurant where Jumin has made reservations. Jaehee is standing outside with the woman Saeran once referred to as Cheong when she was only his music therapist but now that she was dating Jumin’s assistant she insisted he call her Kit.

“Mr. Han and V are on their way, and your brother is at Zen’s right now,” she nods.  

“So we’ve gotta wait outside for Jumin?” Saeran makes a face.

“Ms. Workaholic wouldn’t go in until someone else got here,” Kit rolls her eyes.

The four of them go inside and order drinks.

“Don’t normally see you in your glasses Yoosung,” Kit comments and Yoosung blushes.

“Dummy forgot to make an appointment last week for more contacts,” Saeran laughs.

“You’re being a jerk,” Yoosung mumbles with a smirk as Saeran wraps an arm around him and gives him a little hug.

“Have either of you spoken with her since she left?” Jaehee asks suddenly and Yoosung glances away.

“I have,” Saeran shrugs, “we both went to see her a few months ago, she seemed ok but they were fucking with her meds at the time so she was kind of out of it.”

“She writes me,” Yoosung says, staring at his hands.

“So she knows then?” Jaehee asks.

“Oh!” Yoosung chirps.

Saeran laughs, “She knew before she left, maybe she learned how to fucking knock on a door in rehab.”

Yoosung blushes.

“She’s  _ alright _ , with the two of you?”

“I guess,” Saeran shrugs again, “if she hadn’t emailed me before she left we’d probably still be avoiding each other until the world fucking ends.”

“R-really?” Yoosung asks, turning suddenly.

“Yeah,” Saeran smiles nervously, “the duality of the Peach, she fucking hates me but also wants me to be happy.”

“Ugh I hate when you talk about the Peach,” Yoosung groans.

Saeyoung and Zen take seats to either side of them. “Looks like a serious conversation,” Saeyoung comments.”

“Good thing you’re here to fuck it up then,” Saeran laughs.

The conversation turns to lighter topics but Saeran can’t help but wonder who she’ll be when she gets here with Jumin and V.  Will any of the Peach have persisted?  Will the cheerful woman she’d pretended to be win out?  Saeran never could find the sweet boy his brother remembered from their childhood.

He knew there were parts of Unknown that would always be there, the useful things, the slightly twisted sense of humor, he hopes he’s been able to turn those parts into something new, less volatile.  He still had moments, still had panic attacks sometimes, and bad days.  At least no one seemed to be afraid of him anymore.

Rhee had even said he could drop his regular therapy back to twice a month, rather than twice a week.

Zen spots V before anyone else and the entire table stands while the two men escort Jisu towards them. Saeyoung starts a round of applause and heads turn as the other patrons try to figure out exactly what is going on.

Jisu looks small, and he stays back as the rest of the RFA rush to give her hugs, Yoosung barely hesitates before letting go of his hand to hug her.  Saeran can see a bit of the Peach in the look in her eye, he knows emotional armor when he sees it.  When the last of the RFA have hugged her and welcomed her back he steps up.

He watches the conflicted look cross her face before he reaches out to wrap his arms around her.  He can feel the soft sob that escapes her when she presses her face into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“It’s nice to meet you Jisu,” he whispers into her hair, “I look forward to getting to know you better.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought maybe there needed to be a little wrap up on Jisu and maybe where the boys go from there? Catalyst takes place roughly 18months after the end of the game and covers between 3 and 5 months. If you like this AU and missed it there are some [Yooran Week Prompts from June](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11274348) I also keep my [Yooran Oneshots Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10752018) And I'll be continuing my V focused story in this AU, [Little Talks](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11044380), once the V route releases.


End file.
